He hadn't planned this. Hell, he hadn't planned anything these days. Just a few days ago, he'd been so sure of himself, so confident in the split-second decision to walk out.

But now, standing there in the quiet, under the same pale moon that hung in the sky when things were still right between them, he wasn’t so sure. Everything felt like a mistake.

His feet felt glued to the ground, heavy with the weight of his own indecision. What was he even doing here? He didn’t have a plan. No grand apology, no flowers, no "I messed up" speech prepared. Just his dumb self, standing in front of her house like a complete idiot, staring at the door and wondering if he'd completely blown his shot at getting her back.

So, with a deep breath and no real plan, he pressed the doorbell.