Chapter 15: Fractures in the Wall

Vee’s POV

I didn’t know why I said yes. Maybe it was the look in his eyes when he asked. Maybe it was the way he stood there, soaked in rain and sincerity, like someone learning how to beg for the first time. Or maybe I was just tired—tired of carrying the weight of what he did to me, and what I still felt despite it.

I spent all day telling myself it wasn’t a date. Just a test. Just an experiment in boundaries.

But when I saw him standing outside the theater, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, rocking on his heels like a nervous kid, something inside me twisted.

Zay was never nervous. Never still. Never soft.

And yet here he was, waiting for me like I was the only thing that mattered.

He didn’t complain when I handed him the ticket for a rom-com. He didn’t make some sarcastic joke or roll his eyes. He just smiled—genuinely, not that stupid smirk—and said, “Your rules.”

That felt new. And terrifying.

We sat in the back, and I expected him to pull something. A lame pickup line. An arm creeping around my shoulders. Some excuse to be close. But instead, he stayed still. Quiet. Respectful. His fingers stayed in his lap. His eyes on the screen.

Except once—when I looked at him out of the corner of my eye and found him already looking at me.

And he didn’t look away.

For a split second, I forgot how to breathe.

I didn’t even notice our hands touching until halfway through the movie. Just a brush. Just skin grazing skin. But it sent heat rushing through me like wildfire. And instead of pulling away, I let it happen.

I hated that I liked it.

After the movie, I expected him to revert. Crack a joke. Break the spell. But he didn’t. He walked beside me, silent and calm, like he was afraid to ruin the moment. When we stopped on the sidewalk under a flickering streetlamp, I turned to him and said, “You were surprisingly well-behaved.”

That little grin tugged at his lips. “That’s what happens when you terrify me.”

I blinked. “I terrify you?”

“Yeah. Because I care too much. And I know I don’t deserve to.”

He said it like it hurt. Like admitting it was a wound he kept reopening. And I couldn’t ignore the ache it sparked in me.

I told myself it was all manipulation. Guilt. That this was the same Zay who made my middle school years a nightmare. The same guy who threw paper balls at me, called me names, made me feel invisible and small.

But now… he didn’t make me feel small.

He made me feel seen.

That was scarier than anything else.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” I told him, almost hoping he’d laugh it off. Go back to being the jerk I knew how to handle.

But he didn’t.

“I’ve never meant anything more.”

There it was again—that truth in his voice. It disarmed me. Every time I thought I’d finally built the wall high enough, he found another crack to climb through.

I crossed my arms, trying to steel myself. “If you hurt me again, Zay… I swear to God—”

“I won’t,” he said, cutting me off. “Even if it kills me, I won’t.”

He meant it. That was the terrifying part. The part I didn’t know how to process.

I went to bed that night with his voice in my head. His words circling like vultures.

I didn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling for hours, asking myself what the hell I was doing.

Because I shouldn’t want him. I shouldn’t crave his presence, or replay his voice like it was my favorite song. I shouldn’t be this girl—the one who falls for the guy who used to make her cry.

But I wasn’t a little girl anymore. And he wasn’t that same boy.

At least… I hoped not.