Chapter 37 The Encounter
Elena's POV
I wasn't supposed to be there.
If I'd listened to myself, I would've stayed home, curled under a blanket with Netflix and the kind of snacks that fill the silence.
But Leah had begged.
"It's just a small get-together," she'd said. "No drama, no tension, just food and music. You need to breathe again."
So, I went.
Big mistake.
The restaurant was cozy, tucked in a corner of the city I'd almost forgotten existed - fairy lights strung across the ceiling, soft laughter blending with the hum of old jazz. For a second, I almost relaxed. Almost.
Then I saw him.
Damian.
He was standing by the bar, talking to someone I didn't recognize, glass in hand, his shirt rolled to the elbows like it used to be when he was relaxed - or pretending to be.
My stomach dropped.
It was like the air thinned all at once.
He looked... different. Not in the dramatic, movie way. Just quieter. Softer. Like he'd been through a storm and finally stopped fighting it. There were faint shadows under his eyes, his jawline rougher, his hair a little longer than I remembered.
For a second, I thought I was hallucinating. That my brain had conjured him up because I'd been thinking about him too much. But then he turned - and our eyes met.
The world stilled.
The noise, the laughter, the chatter - gone.
He froze, glass halfway to his lips, like he couldn't believe I was real either.
I should've looked away. I should've walked right out.
But I didn't.
Instead, I stood there, completely still, my heart betraying every ounce of strength I'd built these past weeks.
Leah's voice pulled me back. "Elena, you okay?"
I blinked hard. "Yeah. Just- just give me a second."
I slipped away before she could stop me, heading for the restroom - not because I needed it, but because I needed air.
Except I didn't make it that far.
"Elena."
His voice.
Low. Familiar. The sound that once felt like home.
I stopped walking, but I didn't turn around right away. I could feel him behind me, close enough that the air shifted.
"I didn't expect to see you here," he said quietly.
I turned then. "You shouldn't have."
He gave a small, tired smile. "I didn't come here looking for you, I swear."
"Good," I said. "Because I'm not someone you get to look for anymore."
Something flickered in his eyes - guilt, pain, maybe both.
"I know," he said softly. "I just... wasn't ready to see you and pretend you don't exist."
I let out a humorless laugh. "You've been doing fine pretending, Damian."
"That's not true."
"Then what is true?" I asked. "That you broke me and now want to play the good man who feels bad about it?"
He took a step closer. "No. The man who is bad and is still trying to make it right."
That threw me off. His voice wasn't defensive. Just... raw. Honest in a way I wasn't prepared for.
I folded my arms, mostly to stop my hands from shaking. "You said what you had to say the last time you showed up at my door."
He nodded slowly. "I know. And I'm not here to repeat it. I just-" He exhaled. "I needed to tell you I'm sorry. Not for the lies. Not for Isla. For everything. For making you believe you weren't enough."
I didn't have a reply.
Because that was exactly what he'd done - and exactly what I'd tried not to admit.
He ran a hand through his hair. "You don't have to forgive me. I just... needed you to know I'm trying."
"Trying for what?" I asked quietly. "For me?"
He looked at me then - properly, fully - and something in his gaze made it hard to breathe.
"For myself," he said. "But yeah... also for you. Because I can't stand the thought that the last version of me you saw was that man. The one who hurt you."
Silence.
Thick and heavy, but not unbearable.
Then he took a half-step closer, like he couldn't help himself. "You look good."
I frowned. "Don't."
He almost smiled. "I wasn't flirting. Just... noticing."
"Well, stop noticing."
"I can't."
My chest tightened. "You don't get to say things like that anymore."
He nodded, but his eyes didn't leave mine. "I know. I just- it's hard not to miss what still feels like home."
The words hit me harder than I wanted to admit.
I swallowed, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. "You lost that home the day you chose someone else over it."
He nodded again. No excuses this time. No fight. Just quiet acceptance.
And for some reason, that hurt even more.
"I should go," I whispered.
He stepped back immediately, giving me space. "Yeah. Of course."
But as I walked past him, his voice came again, soft and unsure. "Elena?"
I stopped but didn't turn.
"I don't expect you to believe me," he said, "but I never stopped loving you."
I closed my eyes.
God, why did those words still feel like a wound and a cure at the same time?
"Then maybe," I said, barely above a whisper, "you should've loved me right the first time."
And I walked away.
I didn't look back.
Didn't need to. Because I could feel his eyes on me the whole time - heavy with the kind of longing that doesn't fade, only hides.
And somewhere deep down, under all the hurt and distance, a quiet truth settled -
I still loved him too.
But love, no matter how strong, wasn't enough.
Not yet.