Chapter 3: Almost Strangers

Her POV

I don’t know what I expected when I turned toward his voice.

Maybe I thought I’d see the same boy I fell in love with—the one who used to tease me about my weird food combinations, the one who used to text me at 2 AM just to say he missed me.

But the man sitting in the car isn’t him.

Or maybe… he is, and I’m just not the same girl anymore.

For a moment, we just stare at each other.

The rain drips from my hair, running down my face like tears I refuse to let fall. His window is only half-open, but I can see the hesitation in his eyes. Like he’s battling the same storm inside that I am.

Then, he speaks.

"You’ll get sick."

I almost laugh. Of all the things he could say, that’s what he chooses?

"It doesn’t matter," I reply, my voice quieter than I intend.

He exhales, gripping the steering wheel.

"Get in the car."

A thousand responses flash through my mind. No. Why should I? Do you actually care?

But I don’t say any of them.

Instead, I turn and keep walking.

The rain is cold, but his presence is worse.

Because it reminds me of everything I’ve been trying to let go of.

His POV

She walks away.

And for the first time, I feel what she must have felt every time I pushed her away.

It shouldn’t bother me this much.

But as I watch her disappear into the rain, something inside me cracks.

And before I can think twice about it, I pull over and get out of the car.

The rain soaks through my clothes immediately, but I don’t care.

"Wait." My voice is louder than I expect, cutting through the downpour.

She stops, but she doesn’t turn around.

I step closer, my heart hammering. "Let me drive you home."

She stays still for a moment, like she’s debating whether to ignore me.

Then, slowly, she turns.

And when she finally meets my gaze, I see it—everything she’s been holding back.

The anger. The sadness. The exhaustion.

"Why?" she asks.

One word. But it carries so much weight.

I don’t have a good answer.

"Because… I don’t want you to get sick."

She lets out a breath—half a laugh, half a sigh.

"You already said that."

I know. And it’s not the truth.

Not the whole truth, at least.

The truth is, I don’t want her to walk away.

Not like this. Not when she looks like she’s finally given up on me.

"Please," I say.

It’s the first time in a long time that I’ve asked her for anything.

And maybe that’s what makes her pause.

She studies me, her eyes searching for something. A reason, maybe.

Then, finally, she nods.

"Just a ride. That’s all."

I nod, relieved. "Just a ride."

But as we walk back to the car, I know this isn’t just a ride.

It’s something more.

Something I should have done a long time ago.

Her POV

The inside of his car feels both familiar and foreign.

The scent—his scent—is still the same. A mix of cologne and something uniquely him.

I hate that I still notice it.

I hate that it still makes my chest ache.

He’s quiet as he drives, and I keep my hands in my lap, staring out the window.

We don’t speak for the first few minutes. Maybe that’s for the best.

But the silence is suffocating.

So I break it.

"Why did you stop me?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He grips the wheel tighter. "I don’t know."

I swallow. It’s not the answer I wanted, but it’s the answer I expected.

We reach my street too soon.

He pulls up in front of my house, putting the car in park.

For a second, neither of us move.

Then, finally, I reach for the door handle. "Thanks for the ride."

I open the door, stepping into the rain again.

But before I can close it, his voice stops me.

"I never wanted to lose you."

I freeze.

Slowly, I turn back.

He’s not looking at me—his gaze is fixed ahead, his jaw tight, like he’s afraid of what he just admitted.

For a moment, I don’t know what to say.

Because that’s the thing, isn’t it?

He never wanted to lose me.

But he never did anything to keep me, either.

I swallow the lump in my throat and force a small smile.

"You did."

And with that, I close the door and walk away.

Because no matter how much it hurts—some things aren’t meant to be undone.

Her POV

I don’t look back as I walk up the steps to my house. I hear the sound of his car idling behind me, like he’s hesitating to leave, but I don’t turn around. If I do, I might break all over again.

Inside, the house is dark and quiet. My mom is asleep, and I don’t bother turning on the lights. The silence is heavy, wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket. I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I lock the door.

Why did he say that?

"I never wanted to lose you."

The words replay in my mind, over and over, until they become meaningless. He never wanted to lose me, but he did nothing to keep me. He let me go when I was screaming—begging—for him to just hold on a little longer.

I lean against the door and squeeze my eyes shut.

I should be stronger than this. I should be able to brush it off and move on. But no matter how much I try, my heart still beats for him, still aches in the places where he left me shattered.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. For a second, my breath catches.

But when I pull it out, it’s just a notification from an app.

Not him.

Of course not him.

I let out a hollow laugh and throw my phone onto the couch.

I should sleep. I should forget.

But instead, I sit in the dark, staring at nothing, drowning in the memories I swore I would let go of.

His POV

I don’t leave right away.

After she walks inside, I sit there, gripping the steering wheel, my mind tangled in thoughts I don’t know how to unravel.

I never wanted to lose her. That’s what I told her.

And it’s the truth.

But when she looked at me—when she whispered "You did"—I felt something crack inside me. Because she’s right. I lost her. Not because she walked away, but because I pushed her away.

And now, I don’t know if I can ever get her back.

The rain has slowed to a drizzle, and the streetlights cast a dull glow on the pavement.

I should leave.

But I find myself reaching for my phone instead.

My fingers hover over her name.

I want to text her. I want to say something.

But what could I even say? I’m sorry? I miss you? I don’t know how to fix this?

None of it would change anything.

I sigh, throwing my phone onto the passenger seat.

I have no right to want her back. Not after everything.

But that doesn’t stop me from wanting her anyway.

Her POV

The next morning, I wake up feeling like I barely slept. My head is heavy, my eyes swollen from staying up too late, lost in thoughts of him.

I go through the motions—showering, getting dressed, pretending like I don’t feel like a ghost in my own life.

But when I check my phone, a familiar name pops up on my screen.

Him.

It’s just one message. A simple, meaningless message.

"Did you sleep well?"

I stare at it for a long time.

I should ignore it. I should pretend I never saw it.

But my fingers move before my brain can stop them.

"Why do you care?"

A minute passes. Then another.

Then, three little dots appear.

He’s typing.

My heart pounds against my ribs as I wait.

Finally, his reply comes.

"I don’t know."

I close my eyes and grip my phone tightly.

Why does he do this? Why does he act like he still cares when he was the one who let go?

I start typing a reply—something sharp, something final.

But before I can finish, another message comes through.

"I saw you last night, walking in the rain. I couldn't just leave you like that."

I hesitate.

I hate that a part of me still wants to believe him.

But I can’t let myself get pulled back into this cycle.

So I take a deep breath and type the only thing I can.

"You should have."

And this time, I don’t wait for a reply.

I turn off my phone and try to pretend that his words don’t still have power over me.

But deep down, I know they do.

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