“No you wouldn’t,” she counters. “You already know what I said.”
“Fair,” I admit.
She stops a few steps in front of me, close enough that I can see the faint lines of exhaustion she’s not acknowledging, the way she lists just slightly to ease the strain on her side.
“You good?” I ask.
“I’m here,” she replies.
“That’s not the same thing,” I say.
“It is right now,” she counters.
I study her for a second longer, then nod once.
“Alright,” I say.
The silence that follows isn’t awkward.
It’s… clear.
Everything that needed to be said already has been, in one form or another, and what’s left isn’t about convincing each other of anything.
It’s about choosing.
“So,” she says, tilting her head slightly. “That’s it, then?”
“That’s it,” I reply.
“No going back,” she adds.
“No,” I agree. “Not for either of us.”
She lets out a slow breath, something settling in her shoulders.
“Good,” she says.
I step closer, closing the distance between us without rushing it.
“You sure about that?” I ask.
She meets my gaze without hesitation.
“Yeah,” she says. “I am.”
I nod once, something locking into place in my chest that feels a lot like certainty.
“Then we’re doing this,” I say.
“Doing what?” she asks.
“This,” I reply, gesturing between us. “Whatever this turns into.”
She huffs a quiet breath, something softer threading through it.
“You’re not great at definitions,” she says.
“Never claimed to be,” I reply. “I’m better at decisions.”
