I just can't keep lying to myself.
Elias
The message came in at 10:37 p.m.
He was in bed already—lights off, one hand behind his head, pretending he was going to sleep at a decent hour for once.
The screen lit up.
Liana: "I finished my psych report! Wanna see?"
He blinked. Then sat up.
Another message followed.
Liana: (image attached)
A screenshot of her presentation slides—simple, clean, clearly done with care.
The first page said: "Behavioral Conditioning and Trauma Recovery – Liana Chen"
His chest tightened.
He stared at the photo longer than necessary.
Not because of the formatting. Not the title.
But because she sent it to him.
Because she thought of him first.
Like she always did.
Liana: "It's not perfect but I'm kinda proud 🫣"
He read that sentence five times. Then again.
He didn't reply. Couldn't.
Because he was smiling.
The kind of quiet, helpless smile that made his face hurt and his gut twist.
What the hell was this?
He'd watched her relearn how to walk through crowds.
He'd taught her how to scramble eggs and hang a picture straight.
He'd seen her terrified. Broken. Brave. Brilliant.
And now she was texting him like this.
Like she wanted him to be proud.
And God, he was. More than she would ever understand.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, phone still glowing in his hand.
A whisper rose in his mind before he could stop it.
I'm in love with her.
There it was.
The one truth he couldn't shove back down anymore.
It wasn't about protection.
It wasn't about guilt or history or the years they'd lived under the same roof.
He was in love with her.
With her laugh that rarely came but meant everything when it did.
With the way she said "okay" like it carried weight.
With the fact that she never called herself brave, even after surviving hell and learning how to breathe again.
He pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead.
"I'm so screwed," he whispered.
Because this changed everything.
He couldn't un-feel it.
Couldn't ignore the way his heart jumped when she leaned on him.
Couldn't pretend his skin didn't burn when she touched his arm, or shoulder, or goddamn sleeve.
He'd kissed a hundred women and never once thought about their breathing.
But with her—
Every time she exhaled near him, it was like a fucking miracle.
He threw the blanket off, stood up, and paced.
She's too young. She's been through too much. She trusts you.
Every reason not to feel this way screamed in his head.
And none of them mattered anymore.
Because feelings don't wait for permission.
They just happen.
Like her.
Like this.
His phone buzzed again.
Liana: "Okay sorry if that was lame haha I'll stop bugging you now 🙈"
He stared at it.
Typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Deleted again.
What could he even say?
How do you tell the girl who sees you as a home…
That she's the only place you've ever wanted to stay?
He didn't send anything.
Just pressed the phone to his chest and sat down again.
In the dark. In the quiet. With only one truth left.
He was in love with Liana.
And he had no idea what the hell he was going to do about it.