Chapter 63 up
“Nyla, the umbrella. The rain hasn’t fully stopped yet.”
Clark stopped mid-step.
The sentence sounded ordinary—no possessiveness, no pressure—just calm attentiveness. Clark stood across the street, half sheltered by the shadow of a tree and the dim glow of city lights. From a distance, he watched Vincent hand a black umbrella to Nyla. She accepted it with a small nod, a faint smile that wasn’t forced.
There was no unnecessary touch.
No promises.
No demands.
That was precisely what pierced him.
Clark swallowed. His chest tightened, as if something inside him wanted to break free but had no right to speak. He looked away for a moment, then back again, as if needing to confirm that what he was seeing wasn’t an illusion.
Vincent walked beside Nyla, half a step behind her. They spoke quietly. Nyla let out a brief, soft laugh, then nodded. Clark couldn’t hear their words, but he recognized the language of their bodies. Safe. Equal. Unthreatened.
“So this is how it looks,” Clark murmured to himself.
Jealousy arrived without permission—warm, bitter, and humiliating. He wanted to reject the feeling, push it away, but his body had already reacted. His jaw tightened. His fingers curled into fists, then slowly relaxed again.
He remembered Nyla’s words in the lobby: I am choosing myself.
He remembered the way he had nodded, accepted, listened.
But acceptance was not the same as immunity.
Clark took half a step back, preparing to leave, when Vincent glanced over. Their eyes met. There was no surprise in Vincent’s gaze—just brief recognition, followed by a polite nod.
Nyla turned, following Vincent’s line of sight. She saw Clark. Just for a second. There was no shock on her face, no surge of regret. Only acknowledgment—she saw him, and she chose not to stop walking.
Clark returned the nod. Nyla answered with the same—neutral, adult.
They parted without words.
“Do you want coffee?”
Vincent’s voice broke the quiet as they stopped beneath the awning of a small café. Nyla nodded. “Sure. Something warm.”
Vincent smiled. “I’ll get it.”
While Vincent went inside, Clark stood several meters away, uncertain. He could leave now. He should leave now. But his feet refused to move.
Moments later, Vincent came back with two cups. He noticed Clark standing awkwardly nearby and spoke calmly, “If you want to talk, we can talk.”
Clark was caught off guard by the directness. “I—”
“Without Nyla,” Vincent added quickly, his eyes flicking briefly toward the café interior. “This isn’t about her.”
Clark nodded. “Alright.”
They moved a little farther away, close enough to speak without being overheard. Rain dripped steadily from the edge of the awning.
“I didn’t come to start anything,” Clark said, opening the conversation in a low voice. “And I didn’t come to interfere.”
Vincent nodded. “I know.”
Clark let out a short, bitter laugh. “You always know, don’t you?”
“No,” Vincent answered honestly. “I just ask before I step forward.”
The words struck again.
Clark exhaled. “I saw you two,” he said finally. “And I… felt jealous.”
Vincent didn’t overreact. He didn’t smile in victory. He didn’t judge. He simply listened.
“I know I don’t have the right,” Clark added quickly, as if trying to outrun condemnation. “I don’t want to take her back. I don’t want to beg. I just… feel it.”
“Feelings don’t always demand rights,” Vincent said quietly.
Clark looked at him. “You’re not angry?”
“No,” Vincent replied. “Jealousy isn’t a crime. How we respond to it is what matters.”
Clark fell silent. “I used to respond with control,” he admitted softly. “With empty promises. With pity I used as justification.”
Vincent watched the rain. “And now?”
“Now I’m learning to stay quiet,” Clark said. “And it’s harder.”
Vincent smiled faintly. “Silence can be a form of responsibility.”
Clark nodded. “There’s something I want to say, and you’re allowed to refuse it.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’m afraid,” Clark said—honest, exposed. “Afraid of losing Nyla completely. Not as a partner—that’s long gone. But as someone who once saw me… before I ruined it.”
Vincent looked at Clark longer this time. “That loss is real,” he said. “And it’s a consequence. But not every consequence is meant to punish. Some… teach.”
Clark closed his eyes briefly. “I don’t want you to save her.”
Vincent nodded. “Neither do I.”
Clark opened his eyes. “Then what do you want?”
“Respect,” Vincent answered without hesitation. “I want to respect Nyla. Her choices. Her silence. Her pace. I didn’t come to fix or to own.”
Clark gave a bitter smile. “That’s what I couldn’t do back then.”
“You can do it now,” Vincent said gently. “By not interfering.”
Clark nodded. “I’ll go.”
Vincent lifted his cup slightly. “Thank you.”
Clark turned and walked away. Two steps, then he stopped. He looked back. “Vincent?”
“Yes.”
“Take care of her,” Clark said. “Not from other people. From a world that likes to force.”
Vincent nodded. “I’ll take care… by not binding her.”
Clark smiled faintly. “That’s enough.”
Clark walked along the wet sidewalk. Rain clung to his hair and suit, cold but clarifying. Each step felt heavy, yet honest. He didn’t follow. He didn’t linger. He didn’t send a message.
Inside his chest, the jealousy slowly changed shape—from a burning fire into a sharp reminder. He understood now: the jealousy wasn’t about Vincent. It wasn’t about Nyla.
It was about who he used to be.
About ownership he had taken for granted. About presence he had delayed. About courage that had always arrived too late.
Clark stopped at a red light. He stared at his reflection in a shop window—tired face, honest eyes.
“Jealousy is the price,” he murmured, “of possession I once treated lightly.”
The light turned green. Clark stepped forward, leaving that reflection behind.