Chapter 4: What I Was Afraid to Want

Elle’s Point of View

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

I stared at my ceiling, arms wrapped around a pillow like it might keep my heart from unraveling.

Everything was too quiet.

The kind of quiet that makes your thoughts scream louder.

I thought about Aiden in the bookstore.

The way he stood still—but never made me feel stuck.

The way he listened, even when I didn’t speak.

And the way he looked at me like I was someone worth knowing deeply—not just watching from a distance.

But mostly?

I thought about what he didn’t do.

He didn’t push.

Didn’t try to kiss me when he could’ve.

Didn’t take advantage of the cracks in my chest.

He just waited.

And somehow, that made everything worse.

Because I wanted him to stay.

And I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to want that yet.

I sat up, grabbed my phone from the nightstand, and hovered over his name.

Aiden.

No emojis. No cute nickname.

Just his name. Solid. Quiet. Untouched.

I stared at the screen for a long time before finally typing:

“Are you awake?”

The dots started typing almost instantly.

Aiden: Always.

I stared at that word like it was a door opening.

“Can I come over?”

There was a pause.

Not long.

Just long enough for my pulse to rise.

Aiden: You never had to ask.

Scene Shift — Aiden’s Apartment

He lived ten minutes away, in a studio apartment over his uncle’s garage. It smelled faintly like old coffee and cedar and something warm I couldn’t name.

He opened the door the second I knocked—barefoot, in sweatpants and a fitted shirt, like this wasn’t a big deal.

Like me showing up in the middle of the night wasn’t rewriting everything we’d tried not to say.

“You walked?” he asked, voice low.

I nodded. “Didn’t think I’d sleep.”

He stepped aside wordlessly.

I walked in, slow. The space was small but clean, like him. Simple walls. A stack of books on the floor. A record player in the corner. His bed, unmade but not messy.

I turned around, and he was watching me.

Careful. Still.

“I’m not here to break something,” I said.

“I know,” he said.

“But I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I know that too.”

Silence.

Heavy. Charged.

“I just needed to be somewhere that didn’t feel like a lie,” I whispered.

Aiden took one step closer. Then another. But still, he didn’t touch me.

“You want to sit?” he asked.

I nodded.

We sat at the edge of his bed like we were afraid of waking something up between us.

And then, quietly—barely above a breath—I said:

“Tell me the truth. How long?”

His gaze flicked to mine.

“Since you were sixteen. That day you showed up with scraped knees and a broken chain on your bike. You laughed even though your eyes were full of tears. I don’t know. Something in me… stopped looking anywhere else after that.”

I inhaled sharply.

Because I remembered that day.

But not like that.

Not the way he remembered it.

“I thought you didn’t even like me back then,” I murmured.

“I didn’t know how to,” he said. “Not when you were already choosing him.”

I looked down at my hands.

“You’re not a second choice,” I whispered.

And when I looked up—

He was already staring at me like he believed it.

And like he was terrified to believe it too soon.

The room felt too small for the way my chest swelled.

Sixteen.

That meant he'd loved me in silence for years—through heartbreaks I told him about, moments he never interrupted, and laughter I always assumed he never noticed.

“You never said anything,” I murmured.

“I didn’t think I had the right to,” he said, eyes steady. “You were always his. Even when he didn’t realize it.”

A bitter smile tugged at my lips. “I wasn’t. Not really.”

“You were enough to break me anyway.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was honest.

I stood slowly and walked to the window, needing distance from the weight in the room. Outside, the street was quiet, the glow of streetlights casting gold against the pavement.

“You didn’t ask me to come here,” I said without turning around.

“I didn’t need to.”

That stopped me. My fingers gripped the edge of the curtain, grounding myself.

“I could hurt you, Aiden,” I said quietly. “Not on purpose. But I’m not sure if I’m ready to stop loving the version of Liam I used to believe in.”

“I know.”

My throat tightened. I turned around.

“Then why are you letting me stay?”

He stood too, but didn’t approach. He just watched me like the truth didn’t scare him.

“Because I’d rather hurt honestly with you here… than pretend I’m fine with you gone.”

I blinked.

Because no one had ever said that to me.

No one had ever meant it.

Later, we sat on the bed again, but this time I didn’t keep space between us. I rested my head on his shoulder, legs curled beside me, and we just sat in that quiet, steady stillness.

Aiden didn’t speak for a long time.

And then he asked, softly, “What do you want, Elle?”

I didn’t answer right away.

Because I didn’t want to say something pretty just to fill the air.

So I gave him the truth.

“I want to stop pretending I’m okay with being invisible.”

His body stilled beside me.

“I want to feel wanted, not needed. And I want to know what it’s like… to be chosen first.”

Aiden’s breath hitched—just slightly.

“You are,” he said. “You’ve always been.”

I lifted my head. His eyes met mine.

And for the first time, I didn’t look away.

“Then don’t be gentle with me,” I whispered. “Not if you’re going to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And still, he didn’t kiss me.

Not yet.

Instead, he lay back slowly, his arm curling around my shoulder as I tucked myself beside him. My cheek rested on his chest, where his heartbeat was steady—but fast.

Aiden Reyes, the boy who loved me silently, was holding me like I was already his.

And for the first time… I didn’t feel like I was betraying anyone for wanting more.

I felt like I was finally choosing me.