Kiara Jake was still holding my hands in his. I don’t know at what point I stopped thinking about the cut that still hurt, about the glass, the blood, or the cold kitchen. I was only aware of the contact, of his fingers wrapped around mine. Of the way his skin radiated a warmth that seeped in slowly, as if it weren’t only physical, as if it reached me on the inside. I felt a heat rise within me that I couldn’t hide, a soft but constant pressure in my chest, in my belly, in every corner of me. It was absurd, dangerous, and unfair too. But what was happening inside me was real. I loved him. I loved Jake. I didn’t love him in a new way. It wasn’t a different kind of love. It was the same love as always. I loved him because, in truth, I had never stopped. Everything I once felt for Jake in the past was still intact, stored somewhere deep inside, covered by layers of pain, anger, betrayal, silence, by all the things I always wanted to say to him but never could. Everything that had h
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