Niklas' POV

I was having trouble breathing.

Her room seemed to have thicker air than I had ever experienced. Not from the letter in my hand, not from the storm outside, but based on what she said to me—what they opened inside me.

I had previously observed her jotting down her thoughts using doodles, notes, and other random items that people often leave lying around. However, this particular letter was not a disposable item.

She had a heart. It was cut open, causing the page to bleed. I read it like a thief, too.

"Before I even understood what love meant, I loved you."

I couldn't stop thinking about that line.

As the thunder rolled over the roof, like approaching footsteps, I remained motionless in the centre of her room.

You were not the intended reader.

She spoke as though I had broken something.

Maybe I had.

She didn’t scream. Didn’t yank it from my hands. She just stood there with that look—like she was too worn out to fight but too hurt to forgive.

Then I left.

And now I can’t stop pacing.

It’s almost 2 a.m. Her lights are still off. I should go home. But I don’t.

She scares me.

It's not because she's loud or angry, but because she sees through me.

She always has.

I pulled out my phone, typed the message, and hit send before I could stop myself.

"I think I’m ready to stop running. Can I see you tomorrow?"

Then I waited. Like an idiot. Like a coward who just dropped a grenade and didn’t duck.

Nothing, not even the bubbles, was present.

I wanted to sleep. Couldn’t. Everything in me buzzed like a live wire.

Was she crying?

Was she angry?

Was she still reading that letter herself?

Has she completed her work with me at last?

I must’ve dozed off sitting up because I heard the keys first. Then the door. Then her soft footsteps.

She’s home.

My heart launched into my throat. I didn’t think. I just walked to the kitchen.

She was there, her hair still damp from the rain. She looked as if she’d walked straight through a storm.

"Hey."

"Niklas. What are you still doing here?"

"I couldn’t sleep."

She opened the fridge. Pulled out a bottle of water. Didn’t look at me.

"Did you read all of it?"

"Just most. I shouldn’t have."

"Yeah. You shouldn’t have."

"But I did. And now I can’t pretend I didn’t."

"I never intended for you to see it. That was mine."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"No. Not really. But I want to."

She finally turned to face me, her arms folded tight like she was holding herself together. Barely.

"You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to read my soul and then act like it didn’t change anything."

"But it did. It did change everything."

"Then why are you still talking like you haven’t made a decision?"

"Because I don’t know how to make the right one."

She took a shaky breath. Whispered,

"I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to be honest."

I stepped closer. My hand twitched, wanting to reach for her, but I stopped myself.

"You scare me, Emilia."

"Why? Because I actually feel things? Because I don’t hide it?"

"Because when I look at you, I feel like I don’t deserve you."

"You don’t. But that’s not the point."

She moved past me, her shoulder brushing mine.

"Wait. Don’t go."

"Then say something that matters."

"I see you. I always have. That’s the problem."

"No. The problem is you keep trying not to."

She walked back to her room, the hallway light flickering from the storm.

I followed her.

"Emilia, please."

She turned suddenly.

"What do you want from me?"

"I want to stop pretending. I want to stop pushing you away."

"Then stop."

"It’s not that easy."

"Yes, it is. You either do or you don’t."

"You think I haven’t tried? Every time I look at you, it’s like something inside me breaks. I can’t control it."

"Well, perhaps it wasn't your destiny."

We stood in her doorway. So close.

My hand brushed hers. She didn’t move.

"I missed you. Even when I was right next to you."

"Then why didn’t you act like it?"

"Because I thought if I gave in... I wouldn’t be able to stop."

Her breath hitched.

"Then don’t stop."

My lips were on hers before I could stop myself. Soft. Desperate. Tasting of rain and every unsaid word.

She kissed me back like she’d been waiting for it.

Her fingers tangled in my shirt. I lifted her up. Her legs wrapped around me without a word.

We stormed into her room, and the door was kicked shut.

Her body against mine felt like home.

Clothes hit the floor. Fast. Her skin burnt against mine.

She pulled back just a little. Eyes wide, searching.

"Niklas... don’t do this unless you mean it."

"I do. I mean all of it."

She kissed me again. Deeper. Her breath hot on my neck.

"Then show me."

I did.

We didn’t sleep.

I won't be available for hours.

When we finally lay there, tangled in sheets, the silence felt full. The silence seemed to convey a message.

She rested her head on my chest. Her voice came softly.

"You still scare me too, you know."

"Why?"

"Because I think this might ruin me."

I held her tighter.

"Then allow me to suffer the same fate."

We lay there. Still. Breathing together.

Then came the knock.

Sharp. Heavy.

Three times.

We froze.

Another knock. Louder.

Emilia sat up.

"Who the hell knocks like that at three in the morning?"

I got up slowly. I quickly put on my jeans. I made my way to the window in the living room.

Black car.

No headlights.

There is someone in a hoodie standing at the door.

Then another figure appeared.

Then a third.

My blood went cold.

"Emilia, stay in the room. Lock the door."

"Niklas, what—"

"Just do it. Please."

I grabbed the bat by the shoe rack.

He started knocking again, this time using his fists.

Voices outside.

"Come out. We know you’re in there!"

I stepped toward the door, heart pounding.

Who were they?

What did they want?

And why were they here now?

"Niklas! Don’t open it!"

I looked back at her. Just once.

"I have to."

And then I turned the handle.