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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.”