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Emma’s face suddenly went pale.

She brought me here. She dragged me into this moment. So she should’ve expected it—should’ve been ready for the question.

“U-uhmm…”

“‘Uhmm…’?” I repeated with a sarcastic lilt, mimicking her hesitation. The second the sound left my mouth, I could see her expression twist into something wounded and angry.

“Will you stop mocking me?” she snapped. “Do you think I like what’s happening right now? Huh? Jen? Do you think I’m enjoying this?”

“I’m not mocking you,” I replied, my voice sharp but cracking under the weight of everything I’ve been bottling up. “I’m asking a question. A simple one. Because, you know… he stayed with you for two days. Two whole days. And I was just… gone. Erased. Like I never even mattered. So, yeah—maybe I’m allowed a question this time.”

Her eyes watered almost immediately. The weight of my words sat heavy between us, and for a second, just one second, my anger wavered. My heart softened at the sight of her blinking back tears.

But I fought it. I had to.

She put me through hell these past two days. Not a single message. Not a single word. Not even a sign that I existed. And now she wants me to understand?

“You know what, Em?” I said, my voice quieter this time, but firmer. “Never mind. Don’t answer it. I’m out of here.”

I stood again, and this time, I was determined to leave. She didn’t stop me—not right away. But just as I turned, her hand shot out and caught mine.

I froze.

Her grip wasn’t tight. It was trembling. And then, slowly, she lowered her head and pressed her face against my hand, sobbing softly.

I stood motionless. My pulse thrummed through the silence, unsure what to do with this—this mess of a moment. Her tears were warm against my skin, real, raw. The anger inside me flickered.

“I’m sorry, Jen,” she whispered. “I am so, so sorry.”

She looked up at me with tear-filled eyes, eyes that once held nothing but laughter and fire—and now only pain. A strange kind of silence enveloped us. I felt like I was sobering up in real-time.

I forgot my own pain.

All I could feel was hers.

I sat back down, not looking away from her. She didn’t let go of my hand. She clung to it like it was the last thing tethering her to the ground.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said, voice trembling. “I just… I guess I needed time to figure things out. And I didn’t handle it well. I was selfish and cowardly, and I hate myself for every second of it.”

I watched her closely, trying to absorb the words, but they didn’t land. Not yet. They just floated somewhere between us.

Maybe the confusion was written across my face, because she inhaled shakily and said, “He’s… he is my fiancé.”

That one hit me like a punch to the chest.

Is.

I felt the sharp sting of betrayal, a knife twisting somewhere between my ribs. My lungs refused to fill. If dying of heartbreak was possible, I think I came dangerously close in that second.

Our hands were still together, but suddenly, the touch burned.

Fiancé.

What the hell was she saying?

Everything between us—every touch, every late-night whisper, every unspoken thing—was a lie?

“W-what?” I finally asked, my voice barely audible. “I—I don’t understand.”

I stood up again, as if the act might give me balance.

“Is that why you never wanted to label this?” I asked, louder now, angrier. “Because you have a freaking fiancé? Are you kidding me right now?!”

I didn’t mean to shout, but I did. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. The pain morphed into something molten—something I couldn’t control.

She recoiled as I snatched my hand away. “Y-you don’t understand,” she started.

“Then fucking make me understand!”

My chest was heaving. My hands were fists. And I hated this. Hated that I was standing here, furious at someone I loved. Hated that it had come to this.

“Jen, please,” she cried.

“Please what, Emma?” My voice cracked on her name. “Make me understand. Tell me what this was. Tell me what the hell you’ve been doing to me all this time.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. I couldn’t stop them. My whole body trembled.

“Just tell me the truth. I’m a big girl. I can take it,” I said, collapsing back onto the couch. “What are we? What am I to you?”

She looked broken. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out right away. I thought maybe she’d lie. Or deflect. But instead, she said—

“I love you, Jen.”

I blinked.

What?

My breath hitched. My brain couldn’t register it. I stared at her like she had just spoken a language I didn’t understand.

“You—you what?”

“I said I love you. I love you, Jen. I love… you.”

She repeated it like a mantra, almost like she couldn’t believe it either. Like she was only realizing it now as she said it aloud.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “I’ve been in love with you for… God knows how long. And I’ve been a fool. A stupid, cowardly fool.”

Shock silenced me. My heart thudded erratically in my chest.

She loved me?

But how? Why? Then why this? Why the pain, the silence, the fiancé?

As if reading my thoughts, she looked at my face—and her expression fell.

“Jen,” she said, “I know it’s not what you need right now. Probably not what you even want to hear. But I needed you to know. I couldn’t keep hiding it. I love you.”

I nodded slowly, waiting for her to go on.

She let out a frustrated groan, running her fingers through her hair. “Yes, he’s my fiancé. But neither of us want this. We grew up together—he’s like a brother to me. And our parents, in all their wisdom, decided to arrange our marriage behind our backs.”

I stared, processing.

“We thought it was a joke at first. Laughed it off. I mean, we were in college, chasing our dreams, living our own lives. He dated a dozen girls, and I—I kept dating guys that never felt right. You know that.”

I nodded faintly. She had told me about them. The failed relationships. The searching.

“And then a week ago, Adrian saw the announcement in the paper. Our parents posted it publicly—no warning. Just… surprise, you’re engaged! So he came here to talk. To plan our way out of it.”

She paused again, breathing heavily.

“And that’s why he was here for two days. We were fighting with our parents, trying to figure out what to do. And I… I thought you saw it. I thought you’d seen the paper and I panicked. I didn’t know how to face you.”

I let out a shaky breath.

She reached for my hand again. “Jen, I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted you, leaned on you. But instead, I just froze. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I looked down at our hands, her fingers wrapped tightly around mine.

But my heart still ached.

“You don’t just leave the people you care about because you’re scared,” I whispered. “You get scared together. You face it together.”

She went quiet.

“I was scared too, Emma,” I said, my voice breaking. “But I stayed. I waited. I believed in you. And you… you let me rot in silence.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks now, hot and unforgiving. I couldn’t hold them back anymore.

“I imagined all kinds of things. You and him in this house. In your bed. Every time I closed my eyes, that’s what I saw. Do you have any idea how much that hurt me? How much that destroyed me?”

She released my hand slowly, like it pained her to do so. And maybe it did.

Maybe now she was starting to realize what her silence really cost us.
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