“Are you?”
“I’m happy,” I say, the words tasting like half-truth. “I’m free. I don’t need someone to catch me. I don’t need roots. I need… motion.”
He nods slowly. “I know.”
“Do you?” I turn toward him.
“Yeah,” he shifts to face me. “I know you’re scared of standing still. Scared that if you stop running, the world will expect you to shrink. To be quieter, easier, less… you.”
The words land like stones in still water, rippling through me and cracking open places I’ve kept locked for years. My eyes sting as my hands tremble on the railing.
I swallow hard. “I’m not scared.”
“You are,” his voice is soft, almost tender. “And that’s okay.”
I look away, staring out at the endless dark ocean. “You don’t know me.”
“You’re correct,” he answers. “But I’m starting to.”
My throat tightens as I glance back at the table. My family are laughing at something Ethan said, their faces bathed in the candlelight. Mom watches me, worry etched between her brows.
With a sigh, I turn back to Milo. “They think I need saving.”
“Do you?”
“No,” my voice drops to a whisper. “I just… I don’t want to disappear if I stop moving. I don’t want to wake up one day to realize I let someone make me smaller because it’s easier.”
He nods once. “Then tell them that.”
“It’s not that simple.” I whisper, my fingers twisting together.
He lets out the tiniest chuckle. “It never is. If my parents were still around, I know for a fact they’d be the same. They always wanted me to settle down, but I had dreams and things I wanted to achieve first.”
My eyes soften as I look at him. The moonlight catches the sharp lines of his face, making him look both strong and unexpectedly vulnerable.
“Your parents…” I trail off, not wanting to push.
“Passed almost four years ago,” he says quietly. Emotion flashes through those gray eyes—grief, acceptance, something raw that makes my chest ache. He blinks, and just like that, it’s gone.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I murmur sincerely.
He smiles, but it’s softer this time, almost gentle, before a familiar mask slides back into place, masking whatever storm is brewing beneath. “You don’t have to shrink for anyone, you know that, right? Not even for yourself.”
Something hot and fragile rises behind my eyes, a burn I haven’t allowed myself to feel in years. My throat tightens. For once, I don’t deflect. I don’t crack a joke or run… even though every instinct screams at me to bolt, to protect myself.
“I know,” I whisper, my voice barely carrying over the sound of the waves. I turn to face the ocean again, blinking hard against the sting in my eyes.
His lips curve. “Good.”
Silence settles between us, and after a long minute of feeling his gaze heat my side profile, I push off the railing and look at him.
“You’re staring.”
“I’m observing.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Same difference.”
He lets out a quiet laugh. “You’re impossible, Sienna.”
