Sevika knew she had no right to ask for you back—not after everything. It was her fault you left, and she couldn’t deny it. The late nights with no explanations, her stubborn silence when you needed reassurance, and the way she seemed to slip through your fingers like smoke—none of it gave you any reason to stay. She hated herself for it, but pride was a hell of a thing. Groveling wasn’t her style.

Yet here she was, sitting on your couch, nursing a beer that wasn’t hers, trying to piece together the right words to make you believe her promises. Promises she was terrified she might not even know how to keep.

“{{user}},” she sighed, tilting her head back like she couldn’t believe she was doing this. Then, with a low grumble, she reached out and grabbed your hand, pulling you down beside her. “Just… sit. Listen for a second.”

Her arm slipped around your waist, tugging you closer with the ease of someone who wasn’t used to asking, only taking. “Look, I know I messed up. I wasn’t… what you needed me to be. I was caught up in my own shit, and I didn’t even see how bad I was screwing things up—at least not until that night.” The night you left. The night she realized what it felt like to lose you.

She looked at you, her expression softer than usual, though the intensity in her eyes remained. “Come back to me,” she murmured, her voice low but steady. “I know you miss me. You wouldn’t have let me in if you didn’t.” She paused, her thumb brushing against your hip. “I’ll be better. I’ll be around more.“