VOLUME I ACT I CHAPTER EIGHT The Things We Don't Say (Part Three)
VOLUME I
ACT I
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Things We Don't Say
(Part Three)
Two weeks passed.
Two weeks of cautious hope, of small smiles and gentle touches. Of re-learning how to speak to each other without hesitation. K wasn’t as withdrawn anymore. He started humming in the kitchen again, singing along to the radio when he thought I wasn’t listening.
And I started to believe, maybe we’d be okay.
But then the letter came.
I found it on our doorstep one Thursday morning, sealed in a plain white envelope with no return address. At first I thought it was junk. Until I saw my name written in familiar handwriting.
K’s brother’s handwriting.
I tore it open immediately, hands already trembling before the first sentence.
I don’t know how to say this to your face without ruining everything, so I’m writing instead. I want to believe your love for my brother is real, but I can’t shake the memory of you back then. The girl who always asked about him. Who always showed up whenever he did. You say you care. So prove it. Prove you didn’t manipulate him into falling in love with someone who didn’t exist.
There was more, questions, doubts, moments he remembered that I hadn’t thought were noticeable. Specific examples. Vivid ones.
I sat on the floor and read it twice. Three times.
Then I folded it back into the envelope and tucked it under the couch.
That night, K noticed.
“You’ve been quiet,” he said, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. “More than usual.”
“Just tired,” I replied, trying to smile.
“You sure?”
I nodded, even though my chest was tight.
He leaned in to kiss me, and I kissed him back. But I felt like I was doing it through a wall of glass. Like I wasn’t fully in the room.
When he fell asleep beside me, I slipped out of bed and sat on the balcony alone. The stars were faint, city lights drowning most of them. But the moon was strong. Watching.
I pulled the letter from my pocket and read it again under the silver light.
Did I manipulate him?
I never forced anything. Never lied about who I was inside.
But I had tilted the board. Arranged the pieces. Controlled the direction of our fate.
Was that love?
Or obsession dressed up as devotion?
I didn’t have an answer.
Only shame.
The next day, I went to visit K’s brother.
I didn’t tell K. I didn’t ask for permission. I just showed up.
He looked surprised when he opened the door. Surprised, but not shocked.
“I figured you’d come,” he said. “Eventually.”
I held up the letter. “You could’ve just said it to my face.”
“I thought you’d lie.”
“I haven’t lied in years.”
He raised a brow. “You sure?”
I stepped inside. “What do you want from me?”
“I want to know if the version of events I remember, the obsessive girl who used me to get to my brother, is the same girl who sits in our family dinners and calls herself his wife.”
“I’m not her anymore.”
“But you were.”
“Yes,” I admitted. “I was. I was fourteen. And obsessed. And stupid. And I’ve hated that part of myself for a long time.”
He crossed his arms. “Then why didn’t you say anything when we got close? Why didn’t you tell me, if not him?”
“Because I was scared. And because you’re my friend. One of my best friends. And I didn’t want to ruin that.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I want to forgive you.”
“Then do.”
“I’m trying. But you need to give me time. And honesty.”
I nodded. “That’s all I have now.”
When I got home, K was waiting.
“You went somewhere.”
I froze. “Yeah. To see your brother.”
His expression darkened. “You didn’t tell me.”
“Because I didn’t want to worry you. But I needed to face him.”
He nodded slowly, like he understood—but didn’t like it.
“I just want you to tell me things,” he said. “Before I have to guess.”
“I will. From now on.”
Another truce. Another fragile repair over a fresh crack.
That weekend, we went away.
Just the two of us. A cabin by the lake, the kind we used to talk about renting back in New York but never did. It was quiet there. Clean air. No distractions.
On the second night, we built a fire and lay beneath the stars, side by side in the grass.
“I don’t want to keep living in the shadow of your old choices,” K said softly.
“I don’t want you to,” I whispered.
“But I also don’t want to erase the past. Because the truth is… you loved me. Even if it was in secret. Even if it was messy.”
“I did. I do.”
He reached over, fingers curling around mine. “Then let’s stop measuring the beginning. Let’s build something that doesn’t need fixing.”
I turned to face him. “You still believe in us?”
“I believe in who we are now.”
He pulled me close.
And for the first time in weeks, the silence wasn’t heavy.
It was holy.
