Rain streaked the city windows, blurring the streetlights into long, trembling lines.
I stood under the awning of Celestine Enterprises, my fingers clutching the strap of my bag. My heart was racing– not from nervous, but from the memories I had tried so hard to bury.
Two years ago, I had trusted someone completely. Two years ago, my heart has been shattered, leaving pieces of me I wasn't sure could ever heal.
And now... Here I was, stepping into the office of Adrian Celestine, the man everyone whispered about. Cold. Ruthless. Untouchable.
The first time I met him, I couldn't look away. Dark eyes, sharp and unreadable, scanned me from across his desk.
"Miss D'Amour," he said, voice low and controlled. "I don't tolerate mistakes."
"I... I don't make them," I whispered, my voice barely above the hum of the office.
Something flickered in him – curiosity?
Amusement? I didn't know. He didn't show emotions easily, but for a moment , I felt... Seen.
Days passed. I focused on my work, burying my fear beneath spreadsheets and deadlines. But I noticed him watching me, just sometimes– the way I flinched at loud noises, the quite sighs I tried to hide, the distant sadness in my eyes.
"You don't have to carry everything alone," he said one evening, voice softer then I expected.
I looked up, startled. "I... I manage."
"You manage," he repeated,"but at what cost?"
I swallowed hard, realising that he might understand me more that anyone else ever had.
Weeks went by. Rainy evenings became my refuge. One night, while working late, the lights flickered and died. Only the city's glow lit the room.
I say by the window, staring at the rain, lost in memories I didn't want to feel.
"You should leave," Adrian said, staring silently behind me.
"I... I don't have anywhere to go," I admitted, my voice trembling.
He didn't say anything at first. Then:
"You think I don't feel anything," he said quietly.
"But I do. I just... forgot how to show it."
I could barely breathe."maybe I forgot how to believe it ."
And in that silence, something fragile bloomed between us – quite and trembling, like light trying to escape the dark.
Months later, my ex came back, apologizing for the pain he had coused. My hands shook as I listened. I felt anger, sadness, longing,and finally... release.
Adrian appeared beside me, silently.
"Do what you must," he whispered.
I nodded and walked away from the past. For the first time in years, I felt a sense of freedom. When I turned around, I found him waiting. No words. Just an umbrella, a gesture that said he was there, and he could stay... in his own way.
Time passed. I found peace in small moments — the first sip of cofee, the hum of the city at night, Adrian's occasional glances that were more then just professional.
"You're impossible," he said one night, leaning on my desk.
I laughed softly, and the sound surprised even me " and yet , here you are... Still watching me."
He didn't answer. He didn't need to. I knew.
Years later, a letter on his desk. My handwriting, familiar and hunting.
"If love was a wound, you taught me how to heal it — not by fixing me. But by staying when I was silent.
Don't look for me. Just know I loved you, quietly, completely."
I didn't expect him to ever find me. But somewhere, deep down, I hoped he understood.
Some loves don't end. They live differently — in quite reminders, in the spaces between words, in fragments of hearts that once belonged to someone also.
THIS IS END OF THIS STORY BUT NOT THE NOT END OF THE LOVE.
WE WILL BE QUIET REMINDER.
