Chapter 5 – Shadows of the Past

Adrian Anderson was not used to being unsettled.

In his world of sketches, deadlines, and polished presentations, he thrived on clarity. Angles had to meet, lines had to balance, structures had to stand. But Cordelia Hart was nothing like the spaces he built. With her, everything tilted, blurred, refused to sit neatly in its place.

He had gone into the blind date expecting a polite dinner, maybe an awkward goodbye. Instead, he’d spent the evening listening to a woman who was sharp, measured, and unshakably composed—and yet, behind her cool exterior, he sensed currents he couldn’t quite name.

Currents that seemed to have something to do with him.

Adrian replayed their conversation on the drive home. The way she had said, “Some of us stayed invisible.” The way her smile had never quite reached her eyes. The faint hesitation whenever he mentioned their old tuition class.

It nagged at him. He didn’t like puzzles with missing pieces.

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Cordelia, meanwhile, was no less restless. At her desk the next morning, manuscripts spread out like an army demanding her attention, her thoughts refused to cooperate. Every sentence blurred into Adrian’s voice, every margin into his smile.

She hated it. She hated how easily he had slipped back into her life, how quickly he had stirred up memories she had spent years burying.

But most of all, she hated how much she still remembered the good parts of him.

It would have been easier if he had stayed cruel. Easier if she could reduce him to that one moment—the careless smirk, the cutting word. But Adrian wasn’t sixteen anymore. The man she’d sat across from last night was thoughtful, even gentle. And that dissonance gnawed at her, forcing her to question whether she had been clinging to a ghost of her pain all these years.

Yet the wound was real. She could still feel it ache when she touched it.

When Maya called that evening, Cordelia spilled everything—well, almost everything.

“So let me get this straight,” Maya said after listening. “You sat across from the guy who once crushed your teenage soul, and instead of spitting in his drink, you… enjoyed yourself?”

Cordelia groaned. “Don’t put it like that.”

“You’re the one who said you laughed with him.”

“Once.”

“Twice, actually, by your own admission.” Maya’s voice softened. “Cordy… maybe he’s not the same person anymore.”

“That doesn’t erase what he said.”

“True,” Maya agreed. “But maybe you need to decide whether that one moment defines him forever—or just defines how much it still hurts you.”

Cordelia fell silent, staring at her reflection in the darkened window. Do I want to heal, or do I want to keep hurting?

She didn’t know the answer.

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Adrian found himself staring at his phone more than once that week, thumb hovering over Cordelia’s number. He wanted to see her again, to peel back the layers she wore like armor. But something told him pushing too hard would only make her retreat further.

Instead, he let fate do its work.

Their second meeting wasn’t planned by families this time. It was pure coincidence—running into each other at a quiet bookstore downtown. Cordelia was crouched in the classics aisle, flipping through a worn copy of Wuthering Heights, when a familiar voice said softly, “That’s a dangerous choice.”

Her head snapped up, heart lurching. Adrian leaned against the opposite shelf, casual, but his eyes… there was a gentleness in them she didn’t remember.

“I’ve always liked dangerous,” she replied smoothly, though her pulse betrayed her.

They talked then, unexpectedly easily, about books and architecture and the strange comfort of quiet spaces. But beneath every word, Cordelia felt tension tugging. He was watching her carefully, as if trying to solve her.

And maybe he was.

Because when she laughed—genuine, unguarded—Adrian saw something flicker across her face. Relief, but also fear. As though happiness itself was unfamiliar, dangerous territory.

Later, as they stood outside with their purchases, Adrian hesitated. Then he said, almost too gently, “Cordelia… did I ever hurt you? Back then?”

The question hit her like ice water.

She forced a steady smile, clutching her bag tighter. “Why would you think that?”

“Because sometimes,” Adrian said slowly, “you look at me like you remember something I don’t. And whatever it is—it wasn’t good.”

Cordelia’s throat tightened. She wanted to spit it out, to throw the word ugly at him like a stone, to watch it finally cut him. But the memory tangled with everything else—the warmth, the laughter, the ache of her old crush.

And so she lied.

“You’re imagining things.”

Adrian studied her, as though he didn’t quite believe her, but he let it go. “If you ever want to tell me… I’ll listen.”

His sincerity unsettled her more than his arrogance ever had.

As Cordelia walked away, her chest ached with the weight of unspoken truth. Maybe one day she would tell him. Maybe. But not tonight. Tonight, the shadows of the past were hers alone to bear.

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