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Chapter 47: Always been you!
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2025-07-24 07:09:09
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MEND ME IF YOU CAN. Chapter 49
The silence between us wasn’t just silence anymore.It was alive.It breathed. It pulsed. It screamed with every single thing we never said out loud but always felt. It echoed with the versions of us that never made it to the surface—versions were buried out of fear, or pride, or pain. I could feel them clawing at the air, restless. Hungry.I didn’t turn around.Couldn’t.Because if I did… if I saw his face, if I met those eyes, I wasn’t sure what would give out at first—my breath or my resolve.Behind me, I knew he was there. Not a word. Not a sound. Just presence.Steady. Heavy. Wounded.He didn’t have to say anything. I felt him anyway. Like gravity. Like a storm looming just out of reach, waiting for the right crack in the sky to break through.I wrapped my arms tighter around my torso. Not because I was cold—but because that was the only way I knew how to keep myself from unraveling. Because part of me still wanted to run into him. Just throw every scarred part of me at him and w
MEND ME IF YOU CAN. Chapter 48: Love only, isn't enough.
I wanted to give in.God, I wanted to fall into him—into the warmth of his arms, into the illusion that maybe love could still fix what had been shattered. I wanted to believe that time had healed us, that the bruises beneath my ribs had faded, that maybe, just maybe, he could hold me the way I used to need.But love?Love wasn’t enough. Not this time.Not after the silence. Not after the night he stood there, watching me walk away, while I screamed on the inside—screamed so loud my soul cracked—and he did nothing. Nothing.Not a word. Not a step forward. Not a fight.So I looked at him now—really looked.Saw the shadows under his eyes, the tremble in his jaw, the regret etched into every inch of his face.But I didn’t soften. Not this time.Let the silence hang like a noose between us.Then, when the weight of it nearly crushed me, I finally spoke.“It’s never going to be like before,” I said, my voice low, flat, a thread pulled tight. “Not unless you’re ready to earn your way back.
MEND ME IF YOU CAN. Chapter 47: Always been you!
Travian's POV I watched him from where I stood—just a few steps behind, near the edge of that old sycamore tree where we once played. His back was turned, shoulders stiff, like he was bracing for impact. And maybe he was. Maybe he always had been.But I couldn’t carry it anymore. The silence. The distance. The weight of everything I never got to say.So I stepped closer, careful not to scare him away. My voice came quiet, low, but steady.“Do you remember when we played here all day?” I asked. “Never running out of energy… like time didn’t matter, like the sun would stay up just for us?”He didn’t move.But I saw the slight hitch of his shoulders. The way his hand gripped the bark like it might splinter under his touch.“Back then,” I went on, my throat tightening, “I didn’t know what it meant. I thought it was just the joy of having someone who liked the same silly things—mud fights, tree climbing, treasure hunts in the grass.”I took a breath, tasting the ache on my tongue.“But wh
MEND ME IF YOU CAN. Chapter 46: The boy next door
I don’t know how long I sat there.The bark of the sycamore bit into my back, grounding me while my thoughts threatened to unravel everything I thought I’d stitched together. The woods around me pulsed with life—birds calling in the distance, wind rustling through the leaves, the faint creak of old branches shifting—but all I could hear was my heartbeat. Loud. Unsteady.And his name.Travian.Travian.God. It all made sense now.I’d wondered how he found me. How he knew where to look when I’d worked so damn hard to disappear. I thought maybe fate was just cruel. That maybe it was playing one last trick on me before letting me live in peace.But I see it now.I knew him before. I just… didn’t know it was him.The boy from years ago—the one who lived in the yellow house next door with the wild garden and the crooked shutters. The boy I used to watch from behind Grandma’s curtain, peeking through the lace to catch glimpses of him riding his bike, climbing trees, drawing in chalk on the p
MEND ME IF YOU CAN. Chapter 45: Travian 2
I didn’t move.Couldn’t.Not when my breath had hitched halfway up my throat and lodged there like a stone. Not when my chest felt like it had turned inside out—thread pulled too tight, nerves flayed open. Every inch of mine had gone still, save for the heartbeat ricocheting like a desperate bird in a cage.Travian.He stood there like a ghost carved from the past, too real to be memory and too sharp to be a dream. The sight of him was a blow—one I hadn’t braced for. Like a wound I thought had healed clean, only to find it festering the moment it was touched.His eyes locked with mine.And in that single, breathless moment, time didn’t just slow.It unraveled.Staggered.Collapsed in on itself like paper in flame.The smile on his face was soft. Hesitant. Familiar in all the wrong ways. Like the echo of an old song you’d tried to forget, but couldn’t help humming under your breath when you were alone.And I—I turned away.Not with anger. Not even a shame.But with something quieter.
MEND ME IF YOU CAN. Chapter 44: Travian
The sun had risen a little higher by the time I stepped outside again, the warmth already pressing against my skin like a gentle warning. A thin sheen of sweat clung to my brow, and I wiped it with the back of my hand as my eyes swept across the garden.It was overgrown.Untamed.Beautiful in that unruly way nature becomes when it’s left to its own will. The hibiscus had burst out of its neat bed, spilling toward the stone path in unruly waves of red and coral. Creeping vines clung to the fence posts and wrapped around the wooden stakes like lovers who never wanted to let go, threatening to strangle the smaller blossoms that tried to bloom beneath their shade.It looked abandoned. Forgotten.But somehow… it felt like me.And I didn’t mind.There was something sacred about the mess, about getting lost in it. I dug my hands into the earth, pulling weeds and snipping away decayed leaves. Each movement is slow and deliberate, almost meditative. As if with every tug, every breath of damp s
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