Semua Bab Surrendered Desires: Bab 51 - Bab 60

Ariana’s POV I didn’t go far.Just down the block, to the little rooftop garden above the café where I used to journal when Daniel worked late and I needed air. Funny how it came back to that place. Full circle. I sat with a bottle of water and my phone off, watching the city glitter and hum beneath me like it didn’t care who was heartbroken or healing or somewhere in between. I tried to breathe.But every time I exhaled, his voice came back.// “It was Daniel.”Like a detonator. Like he’d said the one name that still lived under my skin like shrapnel. I had imagined so many reasons Luca might’ve left me. Fear. Immaturity. A sudden loss of love. But never this. Never that he was warned. Never that Daniel had orchestrated it all. And what stung the most? That Luca hadn’t told me. Not after one year.Not after five. Not even when he came back. He waited until I forced him to. And now I didn’t know whether to cry… Or burn the whole truth down.I stayed on the rooftop until the sun dipped

Ariana’s POVThe word sat in the air between us. Stay. It wasn’t a command, it wasn’t an invitation. It was a risk. Because letting someone stay meant opening the door, even just a little, to possibility. And possibility was dangerous when you’d once built your identity around survival. Luca didn’t respond right away. He simply wrapped both hands around the tea cup and nodded — the smallest movement, the most grounded promise. Then, gently, “May I ask something?”I hesitated. “What?”He studied me. Soft eyes. Steady voice./ “How do I love you now… without hurting you more?”I blinked. It wasn’t a romantic question. It was a responsible one. A man who had wrecked me once now asking if there was a version of love I could receive without bleeding again. And that? That was the most intimate thing anyone had asked me in years.“I don’t know yet,” I whispered.“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll wait until you do.”******The next morning, I found a stack of folded notes on the hallway table. Se

Ariana’s POVI recorded that afternoon. Not for the audience. Not even for the next scheduled upload. This wasn’t a podcast episode — it was a confession. No intro music. No script. No polish. Just the soft hiss of the mic and my voice, slightly hoarse from everything I hadn’t said out loud in years.//“There’s a version of love no one talks about,” I began, eyes closed.“The kind that looks stable on the outside. Measured. Respectable. Safe. But beneath that stillness is an echo chamber of absence. No cruelty. Just quiet neglect. And over time, that neglect erases parts of you you didn’t even know were fading. Until one day you look in the mirror and don’t recognize the woman staring back.” I paused.“This episode isn’t about blame. It’s about the question I’m only now beginning to ask myself: What does it mean to stop surviving a relationship and start rebuilding a life?/ I ended the recording without a wrap-up.No closure. Because some truths aren’t meant to be tied in a bow. They’

Luca’s POV — FlashbackParis was never meant to be a hiding place. But somehow, it became one. The kind of place where time slows, and guilt grows teeth. I arrived with a single bag and too many ghosts.And for weeks, I didn’t speak to anyone except the woman at the corner bakery who sold me espresso and almond croissants every morning. She never asked questions. Just smiled like she understood silence wasn’t always loneliness. Sometimes, it was penance.The day I left Ariana, the world didn't fall apart. It just went quiet. That’s what haunted me the most. Not her screams. Not her tears. But the fact that she didn’t chase me.She stood frozen in the doorway as I walked away — and even though she didn’t run after me, her stillness haunted every step I took. Because deep down, I knew: She wasn’t surprised. She was shattered. And I hated myself for how easy it was to disappear. But I did it anyway. Because the threat was real. The man who came to me — the one in the charcoal suit with t

Luca’s POV — Flashback Continues I didn’t sleep that night. Not out of nerves. But because the city felt too loud — like every rooftop remembered me. Like every shadow had memorized her footsteps. I wandered streets that used to belong to us.Sidewalks where we’d once argued about art and politics and what kind of wine was appropriate for breakfast. Corners where we kissed like we were trying to rewrite history with our mouths. It was both beautiful and unbearable. Because the past doesn’t always ache in sharpness.Sometimes, it aches in softness. And that softness kills you slowly. I planned to write her a letter. Something honest. Simple. Something that didn’t ask for anything — not forgiveness, not understanding — just truth. But by the third line, I tore the page out and tossed it. Because nothing written felt worthy. Not of her. Not of what we once had. So I did the unthinkable.I walked to her office building. Not with a dramatic speech. Not with flowers or a ring or a desperate