“Why won’t you stop coming here?” she asked, arms folded as she leaned against the wall. “Why won’t you just leave me alone, Jeff? Coming here… it’s pointless.”

He looked at her, eyes soft but desperate. “Because I’m trying to make things right.”

Vera gave a dry laugh, almost bitter. “Right? There’s no ‘right’ anymore. We broke up six months ago. You broke us. There’s nothing to fix.”

“I still want you, Vera,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve never stopped wanting you.”

Her eyes flickered, but she quickly looked away. “You think that makes it okay? You think wanting me erases what you did?”

Jeff stepped forward, cautious. “Can you just… tell me why you can’t forgive me?”

Her expression shifted. She clenched her jaw. “Why?” she repeated, her voice rising.

“You slept with my best friend, Jeff! I walked in on the two of you. I saw you! I saw you inside her!”

He flinched like the memory slapped him in the face all over again. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was set up. She… she came on to me. I was drunk and confused. It wasn’t love. It didn’t mean anything.”

“But it meant something to me!” Vera’s eyes shimmered with restrained tears. “She was like a sister. And you were the only man I ever saw myself with. You two ruined that.”

“I love you,” Jeff said, stepping closer. “I swear I do. Why do you think I’ve never stopped showing up since the day you ended it? Why do you think I keep hoping you’ll open the door and give me more than just anger?”

Vera didn’t respond. Her breath hitched. She looked at him, at his familiar face, the way his lips moved when he said her name. She hated that she still knew every detail of him.

Then suddenly, Jeff reached out and cupped her face. Slowly. Gently.

“I love you, Vera.”

She didn’t move. Her heartbeat was deafening. And before she could stop it, he leaned in. His lips brushed hers, tentative and soft.

She didn’t kiss back.

Not at first.

But then she did.

She pulled him in, fiercely, as if all the pain she’d bottled up needed a way out. Their mouths met in desperate rhythm, his hands finding her waist as hers tangled into his shirt.

She had missed this. She had missed him even if she didn’t want to admit it.

He lifted her off the ground in one swift motion, and she wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively.

As he carried her to the room, she let out a faint chuckle between kisses. “You still know your way to my room, huh?”

“I could find it blindfolded,” he said, his voice husky.

He placed her gently on the bed like she was breakable; precious.

They undressed each other like it was muscle memory. Clothes falling to the floor, skin on skin, the air thick with everything unspoken. He made love to her slowly, as if asking for forgiveness with every touch. And when she climaxed, she whispered his name like a prayer.

Afterwards, they lay tangled beneath the sheets. Vera rested her head on his chest, his fingers absently playing with her hair.

And that’s when the thoughts came rushing in.

She lay there, eyes open, heart beating fast but mind racing even faster. The room smelled like sex and memories. Jeff was still, his breathing calm, his touch tender, but her thoughts weren’t.

She still saw it.

That night.

He and her friend. Skin to skin. Her laughter. His groan. The betrayal.

It wasn’t a rumour she had to process. She didn’t hear about it from someone else. She saw it. Live. Raw. Unedited.

And as much as her body melted under his touch, her heart remained cautious, scarred.

She wondered if what he said was true. That it was a setup. That it didn’t mean anything.

She wanted to believe him. She really did.

Because loving him… that part came easy.

It always had.

But forgiving him?

Trusting him again?

That part was the war she hadn’t won.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t smile.

She just breathed slowly and deeply and rested her head on his chest like maybe the answers were hidden in the rise and fall of it.

And even though she didn’t know what she would say when he brought the topic up again.

She knew that love had made its way back tonight: not fixed, not perfect, but present.

And sometimes, that’s where healing starts.

Dorcas Akintoye
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Dorcas Akintoye is a versatile writer with a passion for beauty, fashion, relationships, and culinary delight. With a keen eye for detail and a passion for storytelling, she adds a touch of elegance to every topic she explores. She is a writer at THEWILL DOWNTOWN.