Weeks passed like fog thick, slow, and impossible to hold. I kept silent.
It was the kind of silence that carved itself into my bones. I wore it like a second skin. Each morning, I woke beside Nina, smiled, kissed her shoulder, and pretended I didn't remember the sound of her voice cracking in the dark. Pretended I hadn't heard her say his name. Pretended she hadn't cried for him and hated her sister in the same breath. Pretended… I still believed everything between us was real.
But silence is a strange kind of loyalty it protects others while slowly betraying yourself.
And Nina? She didn't flinch. If anything, she bloomed. She kissed me more, lingered longer in bed, sent texts in the middle of the day that made me grin and ache all at once. It was like she had found some peace and was eager to spread it to me, as if I'd never heard her nightmares at all. Maybe she thought I hadn't. Maybe she hoped I'd forgotten. Maybe—most terrifying of all—she didn't care if I had.
Still, I let myself fall into it. Her affection. Her sweetness. Her sudden, overwhelming attention. It was everything I'd ever wanted from her, and for a while, I let myself believe it was enough.
Until the morning everything changed.
It began beautifully. Of course it did.
We woke before the alarm, sunlight just beginning to thread itself through the slits in the blinds. Nina reached for me without words, and I gave myself to her like a man desperate for oxygen. There was something slow and sacred about it—skin against skin, breaths weaving into one rhythm, her fingers gripping the back of my neck as if I might vanish. Afterward, we collapsed together in the quiet, half-laughing, half-asleep, her head on my chest.
The alarm broke through the stillness, and we jumped in sync, startled and tangled in sheets. "We're gonna be late," she said through a sleepy giggle. Her hair was wild and gorgeous, her lips swollen from kissing. She looked like something out of a dream and felt even less real.
We ran to the bathroom together, bumping hips, brushing our teeth side by side, showering with too many kisses and not enough soap. It was the kind of morning that writes itself into the soul.
She wore a navy dress I loved tight at the waist, fluttering at the hem and I let my eyes drink her in as she spun for approval. I wore the blue shirt she liked on me, the one she always said made my eyes look deeper. We matched, unintentionally. Maybe it meant something. Maybe it didn't.
We took my car to the firm, music low, her hand resting on my thigh the entire ride.
Everything was fine. Until it wasn't.
We arrived just in time. I pulled into the underground lot, killed the engine, and we climbed out laughing at some stupid inside joke about the receptionist's obsession with horoscopes. As we crossed toward the elevator, someone called out my name.
"Ethan!"
I turned. Henry. Of course. Late as usual, tie askew, bag slung lazily over one shoulder.
"Oh shit, dude you're late too," I teased, exhaling with a tired grin.
But before Henry could respond, Nina popped up between us like a spark. She stood on her toes and kissed me. "Bye, baby! See you at lunch," she said in that syrupy voice, then darted through the glass doors with the kind of energy only she could summon before 9 a.m.
I watched her disappear into the building. Then turned back to Henry.
He crouched down to tie his shoe, muttering something about his alarm not going off. I waited, half-scrolling through my phone, when another pair of footsteps echoed behind us.
"Hey, Ethan!"
The voice was full of sunshine—familiar, but I couldn't place it. I turned slowly.
And froze.
He was tall, tan, smiling like he knew me. Like we were old friends. The sun hit his face just enough to make his features sharper: strong jawline, confident posture, a boyish kind of charm that never really fades, even with age.
"Kohl," he said, extending a hand I didn't move to take.
"What's your name again?" I asked, my tone tighter than I meant.
"Kohl," he repeated, undeterred. "I'm friends with your girlfriend, Nina. We went to school together."
My mouth curled into a smile that felt more like a cramp. "Oh… okay."
The three of us stepped into the elevator together. The doors slid shut, sealing us in that claustrophobic box of secrets and hums.
Silence stretched. The numbers ticked upward. I tried to stay composed, but something inside me started to pulse—like a thread being pulled loose.
I looked over at him. He was staring at the floor, hands in his pockets, relaxed. Too relaxed.
It had to be now. Or never.
"So… what's with you and Nora?" I asked, careful not to sound too eager.
His head snapped up. Surprise flickered across his face—but he smiled again, like I'd just asked what kind of music he liked.
"Oh, Nora," he said, nostrils flaring with nostalgia. "She was my girlfriend back in high school. We dated a while, but she wasn't in the same school as me and Nina. Different vibe. She was sweet. Kind. A little intense, but in a good way."
I folded my arms, leaning back against the elevator wall. My heart beat faster. I tried to keep my voice level. "What happened?"
Kohl shrugged. "Things just… changed. You know how high school stuff goes. One day she was all in, next day she was distant. Maybe she was going through stuff. I never really knew."
"And Nina?" I asked, unable to stop myself.
He laughed—actually laughed. "Nina was my best buddy back then. She was wild. Tough, too. Got me into trouble and pulled me out of it just as fast. She was always trying to fix things, though. Even tried to patch things up between me and Nora."
My chest tightened. Nina had tried to fix them?
"She really cared," Kohl added, glancing at me with that same easy smile. "She had our backs, both of us. Even when it was messy."
The elevator dinged.
"Oh—that's me," Kohl said cheerfully, patting Henry's shoulder like they were teammates. "Catch you later, man."
He stepped out, leaving a gust of confusion behind him. The doors slid shut. Silence returned.
Henry stared at me like I had grown a second head.
"Brother," he said slowly, "I'm lost. You've got a lot of explaining to do. What the hell was that?"
I opened my mouth to respond but nothing came out. I didn't even know where to start.
"I'm confused too," I admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "But I think I've heard enough."
"Enough what—?"
The elevator dinged again.
The doors slid open.
And there she was.
Nina.
Hair disheveled. Face pale. Lips bitten raw. She looked like she hadn't slept. Like something inside her had cracked.
"Ethan, dear," she said, voice too sweet to trust. "Let's talk for a bit, please."
She stepped into the elevator.
Then, gently, almost playfully, she placed a hand on Henry's chest and said, "Take the other one to your floor, please."
Henry looked at her. Then at me. His eyes narrowed, full of questions.
"Please," Nina added, smiling—except it wasn't her usual smile. It was stretched too wide, too desperate, like a ribbon pulled too tight.
Henry stepped out, confused and muttering, and the doors slid shut again.
It was just her and me now.
She stood with her back to the mirrored wall, fingers twisting together, eyes locked on mine like she was trying to read a page she'd once written and forgotten. She looked small. Caged. And for the first time in weeks, I saw it—not the version of her she performed, but the version buried beneath all the performances.
Her jaw clenched. "I need to explain."
And my heart beat like a drum in a war I didn't ask for.