Page 27 of Escape

She studies me for a moment, her pen resting lightly against the edge of her notebook. “It’s clear that this isn’t like your other experiences. You’ve acknowledged that it felt different, that it mattered. That’s a significant realisation, Mel.”

I swallow hard, my heart pounding. “So... what do I do?”

Her voice softens. “I think the first step is being honest—with yourself and with him. It’s okay to feel scared, and it’s okay to take your time. But if this is something you value, something that matters to you, it’s worth exploring.”

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” she continues. “But meaningful relationships often aren’t. What matters is whether it’s worth the effort to you.”

I nod slowly, her words sinking in like stones dropped into a still pond, both comforting and terrifying.

Owen’s face flashes in my mind again—his soft smile, the way he looked at me last night, like I was the only person in the world. And for the first time, I let myself wonder: What if it could be more?

“Thanks,” I say quietly, steadier.

She smiles, closing her notebook gently. “You’re welcome. And remember, you don’t have to have all the answers right now. This is a process, and you’re allowed to take it one step at a time.”

One step at a time. It sounds simple enough, but as I leave the therapist's office and step back into the bustling city streets, I can’t help but feel like I’ve just cracked open something much bigger.

And for once, I’m not sure if I’m ready to run from it.

Chapter 11

Owen

The faint glow ofthe paused video game bathes the room in soft light as I sit on the bed, controller balanced on my knee. The sound of a knock makes me glance up.

Mel’s standing in the doorway, her arms crossed loosely, an expression I can’t quite read on her face. Her hair’s slightly messy, like she’s been running her hands through it, and there’s a nervous energy in the way she leans against the frame.

“Hey,” she says, her voice quiet. “Can we talk?”

I set the controller aside, nodding as I pat the spot next to me. “Of course. What’s up?”

She hesitates for a moment before stepping into the room. Her steps are slow, almost cautious, and when she sits down, it’s not quite close enough to touch, but close enough that I can feel the tension radiating off her.

“What are you playing?” she asks, nodding toward the TV.

“Just a game,” I reply, shrugging lightly. “You know, classic Owen wasting time with war strategy. You’re always welcome to mock me for it.”

She gives a faint smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Alright, Mel,” I say gently, turning to face her fully. “What’s on your mind?”

She lets out a breath, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “I’ve been thinking about... us. About last night.”

My heart skips a beat, and I work hard to keep my face neutral. “Okay.”

Her hands twist the hem of her hoodie as she stares down at them. “It felt different, Owen. With the others, it’s always been... just something to pass the time, something to stop me from thinking too much. But with you...” She trails off, shaking her head as if she can’t quite find the words.

“With me?” I prompt softly.

She glances up at me, her eyes raw and unguarded. “With you, it felt meant to be.”

Her words cause a thousand butterflies to take off at once in my stomach. I want to reach out, to touch her hand, but I force myself to wait, to let her set the pace.

“And that scares the hell out of me,” she admits, her voice breaking slightly.

I swallow hard, the ache in my chest growing. “Mel, I—”

“No, let me finish,” she interrupts, holding up a hand. Her tone isn’t harsh, just firm. “I need to get this out.”

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