Page 89 of A Simple Reminder

I stay quiet, absorbing his words. A part of me begins to understand the weight he must have carried back then—the suffocating pressure to be enough. To be the younger, carefree brother who just wanted the people he looked up to to be proud of him.

It’s not easy being Lucas’s brother, living in the shadow of someone who always seems to have it all figured out. Someone who thrives, who commands respect the moment he walks into a room.

But to me, Liam always had my respect. He was always more than enough. Every time he walked into a room, I saw him. I was always proud of him. I still am.

“Two times, Soph,” he repeats, holding my gaze as if willing me to believe him. “That’s it. And the last time was eight years ago.”

Eight years.

I exhale, but the tension in my chest doesn’t fully ease. I want to believe him. I do. But doubt lingers, curling at the edges of my mind like smoke. It’s not that I think he’s lying—it’s that I know how easy it is to hide the truth, to tell yourself that something doesn’t count if you don’t say it out loud.

I study his face, searching for cracks, for hesitation. But there’s none. Just unwavering certainty, the kind that makes my stomach twist because it means he’s been carrying the guilt, for a long time.

Eight years.

A long time. Long enough to move past a mistake. Long enough to change. But still, the thought of him like that—of Liam turning to something to quiet whatever storm was inside him—makes my throat tighten.

“Eight years ago,” I repeat softly, the words barely above a whisper. As if saying them aloud could somehow make them feel more distant, less threatening. Less real. “So…no drugs around you anymore? That whole scene–it’s gone?”

“I still go out—I have meetings, dinners—but now, if someone pulls that shit out, I tell them to wait until we’re done.” His voice is firm, resolute. ”I’ve left that desperate need to prove myself behind. I’ve spent years building something real, something that actually matters.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he watches me closely, his eyes searching mine, bracing himself for what I’ll say next. “I don’t want you to think I’m that guy. Because I’m not.”

The knot in my chest begins to loosen, the tight ache easing just slightly. But the questions still linger, tangling in my thoughts like threads I can’t unravel. My voice is steady, but my words feel heavy. “And that night…ten years ago. Would you have ever told me if I hadn’t walked in?”

His face tightens with regret, his shoulders hunching slightly as he looks down, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know,” he admits, “maybe I would have. Or maybe I would’ve just hoped it would stay buried. But I never wanted you to see me like that, Soph. Not then, not ever.”

I swallow hard, my throat thick with emotion. I search for words, something to fill the aching silence between us, but all I can manage is, “It hurt. You have no idea how much.”

His gaze snaps back to mine, unwavering, the intensity in his eyes making my chest tighten. There’s no defensiveness there, no excuses—just him, raw and open. “I know,” he says softly, his voice filled with regret. “And I’m sorry.”

“I believe everything happens for a reason.Nasib,you know?” He raises his hand, gesturing toward his ring finger, a soft, ironic laugh escaping his lips. His eyes drop to my hand, and guilt twists in my chest. Just this morning, I covered our tattoo with concealer, as I always do.

I’m not ready for him to see it. Not yet. Because once I show him, it feels like I’m letting him all the way back in—peeling back the layers of armor I’ve built, opening my heart in a way that terrifies me.

Liam’s voice softens, his gaze unwavering. “You’ve always been my ‘right person, wrong time.’ But the right time is now. I know it—I feel it.”

A beat of silence passes between us, thick with everything we’ve left unsaid.

“What if… What if we’re wrong again? What if it all falls apart like before?”

His eyes flash with something sharp—frustration, maybe even anger. He leans in, his movements deliberate, his jaw tight. “No,” he snaps, the word cutting through the tension like a blade. “Enough of that.”

His hand reaches out, covering mine with a firm, steady grip, the warmth of his touch grounding me even as his tone makes me flinch. His voice lowers, taut with conviction. “Do you think I’m going to let that happen? Do you think I’d fight for this if I wasn’t sure?” His gaze pierces mine, fierce and unrelenting. “I’m not that guy anymore. And you,” he pauses, his voice softening just slightly, though the intensity in his eyes remains, “you’re not going to run from this, from us. Not this time.”

He squeezes my hand, his voice dropping lower, but every word carries weight, certainty. “Listen up, Soph. Here’s a simple reminder: You and I are inevitable. You and I areit. It doesn’t matter how many years have passed or how many oceans are between us. You were made for me, and only me. Just as I was made for you. I knew it the day I met you ten years ago, and I’ll know it ten years from now.”

The words hang in the air, sinking deep into the space between us, their finality wrapping around me like a tether. His eyes burn into mine, and for a moment, it feels like time has stopped.

He shifts slightly, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand in a gesture so tender it makes my heart ache. “I came back for you, Sophie,” he says, the edge in his voice fading into something raw, something almost pleading. He pauses, letting the words sink in, his eyes searching mine, waiting—hoping—for some sign of understanding. “But you were with Jared. And when you stopped replying to my messages, I had to let go. I had to try to move on. But even then, deep down, I knew. I knew our paths would cross again. I trusted the divinity that had chosen you for me. So, I waited.”

“Waited?” The word slips out before I can stop it, a sharp edge to my voice that surprises even me. I let out a skeptical laugh, the sound more bitter than I intended, pushing against the vulnerability in his words. It feels safer to throw up my defenses, to question him rather than confront the whirlwind of emotions he’s stirring in me. “Is this the part where you tell me you’ve been waiting all this time—never touched another woman?” As soon as the question leaves my lips, I feel a pang of regret.Why did I have to ask that?

Liam lets out a low laugh, his eyes gleaming with something unspoken. “No, I’m not going to lie to you. I’ve been with loads of women. Plenty. One after another.”

His words leave me momentarily stunned. Heat rises to my face, and my stomach twists painfully as jealousy surges through me, hot and raw.

Why does it matter? I tell myself. But it does. It sinks beneath my skin, settles in my chest like something heavy and unwelcome.

And I know I’m being a hypocrite because I’ve been with other guys. But that doesn’t stop the thought from clawing at me, sinking its teeth in, refusing to let go.

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