"I’ve spent three years trying to be the guy who doesn't need anyone," he started, his voice steadier than he felt. "I told myself that if I didn't say it out loud, it wouldn't be real. If I kept my cards close, I couldn't lose. But I’m losing anyway, Maya. I’m losing time."
"Finally," she whispered, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. "I thought you were going to keep me guessing forever."
He climbed the stairs, his heartbeat echoing in the quiet hallway. When Maya opened the door, she looked exactly like home—oversized sweater, hair in a messy bun, and that look of gentle confusion she always had when he showed up unannounced. "Julian? It’s eleven o'clock. Is everything okay?"
For months, he’d played it safe. He was the king of the "casual check-in," the master of the "maybe next week." He’d built a fortress of cool composure to protect himself from the sting of rejection. But tonight, that fortress felt like a cage.
In his hand was a small velvet box, but in his head, a single line from a song he’d heard that morning kept looping: “I’m never keeping secrets no more.”
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