Page 39 of Imperfect Desires

“Lev?” I whisper, voice small in the silence that’s suddenly far too loud.

He doesn’t turn.

“About what just happened—”

“This…” His voice is rough. Raw. He pauses, his jaw clenching as he rakes a hand through his hair. “This was a…”

He stops. The word mistake hangs heavy in the air, unsaid but screaming in the space between us.

He can’t even say it.

He turns to face me, finally, his eyes stormy and unreadable. “This should never have happened.”

“Lev,” I said, my voice shaking. “Wait.”

He paused, his hand on the doorknob, but he didn’t turn around. “This should never have happened, Alina,” he said, hisvoice calm, measured, like he was discussing a strategy, not our hearts.

I sit up, pulling the sheet around me, my chest tight with pain. “But it did,” I whisper.

He didn’t respond. He just opens the door and leaves, closing it softly behind him. I lay back on the bed, my body still buzzing with the aftermath of what we’d just shared, but my heart feels hollow. Seven years of longing, of dreaming, and it had all come to this—a moment of passion followed by regret. He kissed me like I was the only woman who ever existed. And then he vanished like I was nothing.

I close my eyes, trying to hold on to the memory of his touch, his kiss, but it is slipping away, like sand through my fingers. And all I can think is that this wasn’t over. It couldn’t be, but the silence that follows swallows me whole.

13

Alina

The boutique is bright and luxurious, the smell of fresh linen and lavender drifting through the air as Yelena sifts through the rows of tiny onesies and baby blankets. Soft classical music hums in the background, the sound almost too delicate for how I feel inside.

I am currently visiting Yelena in Philly because I almost went mad staying in my room in New York after what happened there.

Yelena holds up a pale blue onesie with silver stars. Her face is glowing, her dark eyes soft with that maternal warmth I’ve never seen before.

“Isn’t this perfect?” Yelena says, her voice light.

I smile faintly. “It’s cute.”

She holds it to her chest, grinning. “It’s more than cute—it’s perfect.”

I nod and try to mirror her enthusiasm, but my smile feels thin. My hands skim over the folded cashmere blankets stacked neatly on the display table. I try to focus on the soft texture beneath my fingers, but my mind keeps drifting.

To Lev.

He’s always there, hovering beneath the surface of my thoughts like a persistent ache that never fades. Seven years, and I still can’t shake him.

Yelena moves toward the back of the store, humming under her breath as she sifts through racks of tiny sweaters and knit caps. I linger behind, pretending to examine a set of lace-trimmed blankets.

I see Yelena glance toward me out of the corner of my eye. Her brows pull together in that way they always do when she senses something is off.

“You’ve been quiet,” Yelena says.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

I force a smile. “Just tired.”

Yelena watches me for a moment longer, then shrugs and goes back to examining the racks.

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