Kaia stares at me for several seconds before she finally says, “Too much?”
“Yes.”
Something shifts in her expression.
I force myself to say the rest.
“I wanted you before the fire.”
She goes very still.
Then, softly, “Good.”
I stare at her.
“Good?”
Her chin lifts.
“Because I wanted you before the fire too.”
My pulse hits hard.
Every excuse I built around her disappears at once.
Kaia looks down.
“I am still angry with you.”
“That sounds more familiar.”
Her mouth twitches.
“The part that hurt was you deciding what I felt.”
I nod once. “I know.”
“No, I do not think you do.”
I stay quiet.
“My family had opinions about everything. What I wore, what I ate, what I studied, how loudly I laughed. I left at eighteen because I was tired of seeing myself through everyone else’s eyes.”
She looks at me.
“So when you told me I might not know what I felt, it landed badly.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her expression softens slightly.
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
I look down at my hands.
“My reasons do not excuse it.”
