Page 43 of Ready or Not
Maybe I had willed him into existence with nothing but guilt and wishful thinking.
But then he smiled—that sharp, crooked grin that always seemed to toe the line between charm and trouble—and yelled. "Don’t move! I’m coming to you."
I blinked.
Before I could so much as process his words, he was already jogging toward the stairs of the opposite platform, weaving through the crowd with hastiness. A train rumbled in on his side of the station, its screeching brakes briefly drowning out the chaos in my chest, and for a moment, I lost sight of him.
I took a step back, clutching my phone like it was a lifeline.
What was he doing here?
This wasn’t his neighborhood—not even close.
And why now, of all times, when I’d finally summoned the courage to face him on my terms?
My legs itched to bolt down the platform and onto the waiting train like some invisible cue had just sounded an alarm.
But before I could act, there he was again—emerging from behind a cluster of commuters, leaning heavily against the stair railing as if he'd run a marathon. His breath came in audible bursts by the time he reached me, hands bracing his knees as he glanced up with that same grin that disarmed me far too many times before.
“You… you,” he panted between breaths. “You left and.. I was… Jesus.”
“I was what?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
Fuck, not a great way to start.
However, I didn’t know how else to sound.
My heart was hammering, my brain ricocheting between confusion and that annoying flicker of hope I was desperate to swat away.
He straightened, his chest still heaving as he pressed one hand against it.
“I was trying to figure it out,” he said finally, his grin fading into something softer, something almost unsure as his eyes searched mine. “You left without saying anything. No note, no text, just… gone.”
I looked away, searching the platform for something to look at, but everything my eyes landed on redirected me right back to him.
“I thought you wanted me to leave,” I said quietly, my lips dry as they formed the words. "I saw the folded clothes and?—”
“That was a mistake. I shouldn’t have left them out like that. It wasn’t… it wasn’t what you thought.”
I frowned, the noise of the subway tunnel around us dimming as his words sank in. “Then what was it?”
“I didn’t think much of it,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I took your clothes out of the dryer, folded them and left themnext to mine to get us breakfast. I thought you’d still be there when I came back, and... you were just gone.” His voice cracked. He stepped closer, his face shadowed but his dark eyes relentless as they locked onto mine. “Solène, I didn’t want you to leave.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out. My mind was cycling through fragments of memories, still trying to realign what I'd perceived that morning with what he was saying now. The clothes, freshly laundered and perfectly folded, had seemed like such a glaring signal at the time.
“So…” I began, my voice soft and uncertain now. “You weren’t… trying to push me out?”
He ran his tongue over his bottom lip before exhaling hard through his nose. “Push you out? Nah. I have no idea how you got that from anything I did. If anything…” He faltered for the first time since we’d laid eyes on each other again, his gaze lowering to the grimy subway platform with a vulnerability that caught me off guard. “If anything, I was trying to find a way to ask you to stay longer. I was gonna tell you that… I didn’t want it to just be a one-time thing. That I wanted more than… whatever that night was.”
The air suddenly felt too thick in my lungs, too heavy against my skin. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. My mind scrambled through fragments, trying to realign what I’d seen that morning with what he was saying now.
I had run.
Not just from him, but from the possibility of something real.
My friends were right.
I was a goddamn coward.
