Chapter 4

ZARIELLE’S POV

Three months passed. The wedding, the whispers, the old ache — they all faded, softening into something quiet. I started working at a small design studio downtown, and for the first time in years, my days were filled with things that were entirely mine: sketches, fabric swatches, late afternoons laughing with my new coworkers.

I thought I was fine. I thought I had truly moved on — until the rainstorm hit that afternoon.

I was standing under the awning of a café, waiting for the downpour to slow, when a car pulled up right in front of me. The window rolled down, and there he was.

“Get in. I’ll drive you home.”

Kael.

My breath caught. It had been weeks since I last saw him — and he looked different. Tired. The sharp, confident glow I’d always known was gone, replaced by something worn and heavy.

“I’m fine here,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Thank you.”

“Zarielle, don’t be stubborn.” His voice was softer than I remembered — almost pleading. “It’s pouring. Please.”

I hesitated. The rain was getting heavier, soaking the hem of my coat. Reluctantly, I opened the door and slipped into the passenger seat. The air inside smelled faintly of his cologne — the same scent I’d bought him for our second anniversary. My chest tightened, but I pushed the feeling away.

“Where to?” he asked, pulling back into the road.

I gave him my address, then stared out the window, watching the blurry city lights streak past. Neither of us spoke for a long time. The silence wasn’t peaceful — it was thick, loaded with everything we’d never said.

“You look good,” he said finally.

I kept my eyes on the rain-slicked street. “I am good.”

He nodded slowly, both hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. “I heard about the new job. Design studio. I always knew you’d make it — you were always the one with the talent, the drive.”

I turned to look at him. “Why are you saying this now, Kael?”

He exhaled, a long shaky breath. “Because… because I see you. And I see what I lost.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. I didn’t let them sink in. I wouldn’t.

“You didn’t lose me,” I said quietly. “You chose to let me go. There’s a difference.”

He flinched as if I’d struck him. “I know. God, I know. Elara… she’s wonderful, Zarielle, she really is — but it’s not the same. I keep comparing everything to how it was with you. And nothing measures up.”

My heart ached — not for him, but for the girl I used to be, who would have given anything to hear these words. Now they just felt… late.

“That’s not fair to her,” I said. “She doesn’t deserve to be compared to a memory. And I don’t deserve to be someone’s regret.”

“I’m not saying this to hurt you,” he insisted, glancing at me. “I’m saying it because I was wrong. I thought loving someone meant being excited all the time — but what we had? That was peace. That was home. And I traded it away because I thought I wanted fire instead.”

“Fire burns, Kael,” I told him gently. “And peace? Peace is something you protect. You don’t leave it behind just to see if something brighter comes along.”

He pulled up in front of my building, turned off the engine. For a moment, neither of us moved.

“I miss you,” he whispered.

I unbuckled my seatbelt, my hand on the door. “I miss the person I thought you were. But that person doesn’t exist anymore. And I’m not the girl who waits for you to change your mind.”

“Can we… can we try again?” His voice was barely audible. “I know it’s selfish. But I need you. I didn’t realize how much until it was too late.”

I shook my head, soft but firm. “You don’t need me, Kael. You need the comfort I gave you. You need knowing someone would always be there. But that’s not love — that’s reliance. And I want someone who chooses me because they can’t imagine a life without me, not because they miss how easy I made things.”

I stepped out into the covered walkway, then turned back to him one last time.

“You have a wife now. Build a life with her. Choose her, fully — the way you never chose anyone. And let me go.”

Before he could say another word, I turned and walked toward the entrance. I didn’t look back. I heard his car stay there for a long time, idling in the rain — and then, finally, it pulled away.

I leaned against the closed door of my apartment, breathing deeply. My hands were still trembling a little, but my heart felt lighter than it had in years. He was gone. Truly gone. And I was still here — whole, steady, and free.

TO BE CONTINUED