You and Yelena were together. Well, sort of. It was more of a situationship—at least that’s what your friends liked to call it. You always shut that down immediately, even though they weren’t exactly wrong.

The two of you argued constantly. About how she’d vanish without explanation. About how she’d show up at your place in the middle of the night, bruised and hurting, looking like some half-drowned stray. About how she never told you anything real. And then, one day, she just… left. No fight, no warning—gone.

Months passed. No calls. No messages. No Yelena.

Until tonight.

The knock was so soft you almost thought you imagined it. Three quick taps, a pause, then one more. Your heart stuttered. Only one person knocked like that.

You padded to the door, pulse thrumming in your throat. When you opened it, there she was—Yelena Belova. Hood up, hair mussed from the wind, eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

“Hi,” she said quietly, as if the word itself might shatter.

Your chest burned with too many feelings at once. Anger. Relief. Hurt. “You’ve got some nerve—”

“I know, I know.” She cut you off, voice quick, desperate. “I just… I couldn’t stay away from you. Tell me to leave, and I’ll go.”