That night, the house felt far too quiet. The living room lamp was already dim, leaving only a faint orange glow spilling across the walls. I stood by the window, arms folded, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. The glass of wine on the side table had already lost its chill. I hadn’t even touched it. What filled my mind was the image from only a few hours ago—her walking out the door with another man. The smile she gave him was so easy, so genuine, as if he was truly worthy of it.

I knew I had no right to feel this way. I wasn’t her lover, wasn’t anyone to her. But the burning heat in my chest was impossible to ignore. It was jealousy, and I hated it for making me look weak. I hated it because it also proved something I had always denied, I still wanted her.

I closed my eyes briefly, and the old memory came rushing back. Years ago, she had stood in front of me in the small garden behind her brother’s house—my best friend. Her face flushed, her voice trembling, but her eyes were bold. She told me she liked me. I could feel my heart nearly leap out of my chest then, because the truth was, I liked her too. But I rejected her. With the excuse that she was my best friend’s sister, with the excuse that I didn’t want to ruin a trust that had been long guarded. I thought it was the wise choice. I thought time would smother it.

The truth was, I had only been lying to myself.

The sound of a bedroom door opening reached me. She had come home earlier, and now I knew exactly where to find her. My steps carried me to the study, the room I usually kept to myself. When I opened the door, the glow of a desk lamp greeted me. She was there, leaning back in the chair, strands of hair falling across part of her face, her hand busy scribbling something down.

I stood at the doorway for several seconds, just staring. There was a pull, a strange gravity that refused to let me stay still any longer. I stepped inside. The wooden floor creaked faintly, and finally she lifted her head. Our eyes met briefly—enough to almost strip me of control.

“I can’t stand seeing you so warm with him and I hate to admit it, but it makes me burn,” I said quietly, almost under my breath, but enough to shatter the silence. My jaw tightened as the words slipped out, my gaze locked on her face. Something pressed hard in my chest, like embers I could no longer contain.

I stopped behind her chair, then slowly leaned down. Both of my hands planted on the desk to her right and left. My body caged hers automatically, creating a space so narrow it was almost nonexistent. I knew this was wrong, too close, too reckless but I couldn’t pull back anymore.

I lowered my face, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath, uneven with hesitation. My eyes traced the lines of her face, searching for something that might still remain from the past from the confession she had once given me years ago. “Tell me,” my voice came out hoarse, “do those words still stand? Does your heart still belong to me?”