The first time I told Clara I loved her, she didn’t say it back. Not immediately, at least. She had simply stared at me, lips slightly parted, eyes filled with a storm of emotions I couldn’t quite decipher. It wasn’t rejection. It wasn’t indifference. But it wasn’t the immediate, breathless reciprocation I had secretly hoped for, either.
That moment haunted me more than it should have. Even now, with Clara asleep beside me, her bare skin warm against mine, I couldn’t shake the memory. We had built something together, something fragile but real. Yet, there were cracks forming beneath the surface, ones I wasn’t sure we could ignore much longer.
Clara stirred, her lashes fluttering as she shifted, instinctively reaching for me in her sleep. I let my fingers trail down her arm, memorizing the way her body molded to mine. For a second, I allowed myself to believe that this—us—was unshakable. But I knew better.
The problem with love was that it demanded more than just passion. It required trust. And there were parts of Clara she still kept locked away, pieces of her past she refused to share. I had pretended to be okay with it for months, but I wasn’t anymore.
The soft glow of dawn seeped through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. I slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake her, and pulled on one of her shirts before heading to the kitchen. The silence of the house felt suffocating. It was the same silence that had once reminded me of loss, of grief, of loneliness. Now, it reminded me of the things Clara and I didn’t say to each other.
I poured myself a cup of coffee, staring out the window as I sipped. The city was beginning to stir, life moving on as it always did. I envied that sometimes—the ability to just keep going, no matter what.
“You left the bed too early,” Clara’s voice was low, slightly hoarse from sleep. I turned to find her standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but a sheet wrapped around her body. Her hair was a mess, her expression unreadable.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I admitted, watching as she walked over, her bare feet silent against the wooden floor. She took the coffee from my hands, taking a small sip before setting it aside.
“Something’s wrong.” It wasn’t a question. Clara knew me too well.
I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. “Do you ever feel like we’re just waiting for something to break us?”
Her brows furrowed slightly, but she didn’t look away. “Is that what you think?”
I hesitated, but there was no point in pretending. “I think we keep avoiding the hard conversations. I think there are things you don’t tell me because you’re afraid I’ll walk away.”
Clara’s jaw tightened, a flicker of something dark passing through her eyes. “You’re wrong.”
“Then tell me,” I pressed, stepping closer. “Tell me why you still have one foot out the door, even after everything.”
Clara looked at me for a long moment before shaking her head. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is.” My voice was quieter now, but no less firm. “You don’t trust me the way I trust you.”
Something in her posture stiffened, and I knew I had hit a nerve. Clara had always been careful with her emotions, with the way she let people in. I had accepted that at first, but now, it felt like an invisible wall between us.
She turned away, grabbing the coffee again, as if she needed something to do with her hands. “This isn’t about trust.”
“Then what is it about?” I demanded.
Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy.
Finally, she sighed. “There are parts of me I don’t want to give you, Bela.”
I swallowed hard. “Why?”
Clara hesitated, her fingers tightening around the cup. “Because if I do, you’ll see all the reasons why you shouldn’t love me.”
My chest ached at her words. I stepped forward, gently tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to meet my gaze. “That’s not how love works. You don’t get to decide which parts of you I get to love.”
Clara’s eyes searched mine, and for a second, I thought she might finally let me in. But then, just like always, she pulled back. “I need some time,” she murmured, and before I could say anything else, she walked away.
I watched her go, feeling that familiar weight settle in my chest. Time. That’s what she always said. But how much more time could we afford before the cracks between us became too deep to fix?
I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.
Clara didn’t come back to bed that night.
I stayed awake, listening to the distant hum of the city outside, waiting for the sound of her footsteps. But they never came. When the first light of morning spilled through the window, I found myself still alone, the sheets cold beside me. A hollow ache settled deep in my chest. This was becoming a pattern—a slow unraveling of something I wasn’t ready to lose.
By the time I walked into the kitchen, Clara was already dressed, sipping her coffee like nothing had happened. She barely looked up as I entered, but I saw the tension in her shoulders, the way her grip on the cup tightened ever so slightly. She felt it too.
“I have to leave early today,” she said, her voice neutral. Too neutral.
I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms. “Are we going to talk about last night?”
She sighed, setting her mug down with a soft clink. “What do you want me to say, Bela?”
“I want you to stop running.” The words came out sharper than I intended. “Every time things get hard, you shut me out.”
Clara’s jaw clenched, her eyes flickering with something unreadable. “I’m not running.”
“Yes, you are.” I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “You’re afraid to let me in completely. And I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending that doesn’t hurt.”
Her gaze finally met mine, and for a second, something in her resolve wavered. But then, just like always, she pulled back. “I need space.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “You always need space, Clara. What about what I need?”
She exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Bela, please.”
The exhaustion in her voice, the quiet plea—I hated how much it made me want to give in. But this time, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.
I shook my head. “No. Not this time.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us was thick with things unsaid, with all the moments we had avoided until they festered into something neither of us could ignore anymore.
Finally, Clara grabbed her coat. “I have to go.”
I watched her walk to the door, every instinct screaming at me to stop her. But what was the point? I couldn’t keep chasing after someone who was determined to keep running.
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving behind only silence.
And this time, it felt different.
Final.
Hours passed, but the knot in my stomach didn’t ease. By midday, I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed my phone, scrolling through messages I had left unanswered. There was only one person I could talk to about this.
“Bela?” Lucas’s voice came through the line after the second ring, warm and familiar. “You okay?”
I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. “No.”
A pause. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, sinking onto the couch. “I think I’m losing her.”
Lucas sighed. “Clara loves you. But she’s scared. You know that.”
“Yeah, well, love isn’t enough if she won’t even try to let me in.”
“You can’t force her, Bela.”
“I know.” My throat felt tight. “But I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
Another pause, then Lucas’s voice softened. “Maybe it’s time to ask yourself if waiting is worth it.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
Because for the first time, I wasn’t sure if it was.