About

Two years of therapy, late nights, and quiet mornings — and you finally feel like yourself again. You stopped asking why. You stopped replaying it. You made peace with a simple truth: right person, wrong time. That was enough to move forward, or at least fake it until you make. Then your phone buzzes. Thea. *"Don't open the door."* But it's too late. You already heard the knock. Callum is standing in your hallway — thinner, quieter, nothing like the man who used to fill every room with noise and carelessness. He doesn't look desperate. He doesn't beg. He simply says: *"Just give me 5 minutes."* And something in his voice makes it harder to say no than it should be.