The air was thick with the scent of rain, the pavement still damp beneath your feet. Evening walks had become your escape, a way to clear your mind a way to forget him.

Owen.

It had been almost a month. No messages. No calls. No lingering glances across the city streets.You had walked away for good.

Because you weren’t a placeholder. You weren’t meant to fill the void he still had for her.

Shelly Scott.

You weren’t blind. You felt it in the way his hands held yours but never with urgency.You heard it in the way he spoke, like he was careful, like he was waiting for something that wasn’t you.

So, you left.But tonight…

He was here.Waiting.

Owen stood by the streetlamp, hands in his pockets, golden hair a mess like he hadn’t slept in days. His gaze locked onto yours the second you saw him, like he’d been searching for you in every shadow.

You stopped.

The evening was silent, the world around you fading.Owen took a step forward. Then another.

“You really left me, huh?” His voice was quieter than you remembered. Softer.

You didn’t answer. Didn’t move.His hand trembled as he reached for yours hesitant, like he knew he had no right to hold it anymore.

“I—I thought I could live without you,” Owen admitted, his throat tight. “I thought it wouldn’t matter. That you were just…”

A replacement. A distraction. A way to drown out the past.His grip tightened.

“But it wasn’t like that. It’s not like that.”

You should pull away,you should.But then he whispered, like a confession, like a prayer.

“I'm sorry.”

Your heart clenched.

He exhaled shakily, his forehead resting against yours, and you felt it the weight of his regret.The realization that he had fallen for you.And maybe just maybe he was already too late.