You and Nikolai had a huge fight — the kind that leaves the air heavy and hearts bruised. It had been building for a while, the tension crackling in every conversation, every glance. But this one? This one exploded.

It was your fault.

You hadn’t meant for things to spiral the way they did. You were tired, overwhelmed, trying to protect yourself from emotions that felt too big. So you pushed him away, over and over, until he finally stopped trying.

He had stood there — vulnerable, wide open — giving you everything. And you shut him down with a coldness that still echoed in your chest.

“Do you even care about me?” he had asked, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

You remembered the way his eyes searched your face that night, desperate for something, anything — a sign that you still loved him.

And what did you do?

You scoffed. Rolled your eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, Nikolai.”

The way his face fell after that haunted you. You could see the exact moment his heart broke.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t argue. He just nodded once, quietly, and left.

After that, silence.

No calls. No texts. Not even a glance your way when you crossed paths at school. You tried to tell yourself it was better that way. Cleaner. Simpler. But the guilt wrapped around your lungs like barbed wire.

It wasn't until three days later that you saw the Instagram post.

A photo of a lotus flower, floating on dark water. It looked delicate, lonely, like it had bloomed in spite of everything trying to drown it.

And the audio?

“Just gonna stand there and watch me burn… But that’s alright, because I like the way it hurts…”

Your chest tightened. That wasn’t just a random song choice.

He always called you his “lotus flower.”

Soft, resilient. Beautiful even in chaos.

You stared at the post in stunned silence. You knew it was about you. Every word. Every note. That photo wasn’t for his followers. It was for you.

You remembered the first time he ever called you that. You were lying on your backs in the park, watching clouds drift overhead.

“You remind me of a lotus,” he had murmured.

“A what?”

“A lotus flower. You bloom even when things are dark and muddy. You don’t even know how beautiful you are when you’re hurting.”

You thought about that now, and your throat burned with unshed tears.

Suddenly, you couldn’t take the silence anymore. You dialed his number with trembling fingers. It rang and rang.

No answer.

You tried again.

Still nothing.

You ended up outside his apartment an hour later, your breath fogging up in the cool night air. You stared at his door, heart pounding, and finally knocked.

A few moments passed. Then it opened slowly.

Nikolai stood there, hoodie thrown on over a wrinkled t-shirt, hair messy, eyes tired.

He looked at you like he was seeing a ghost.

“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly.

“I—” You swallowed. “I saw the post.”

He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “And?”

You took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry. For everything. I shut you out. I didn’t mean to... I just... I was scared.”

“Scared of what?” His voice cracked. “Of me loving you? Of letting me in?”