Love never fails

07|The advice story

Chapter 67: The Struggles of the Heart**

I sat alone in my dad's house, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows through the window as I stared out into the distance, lost in my thoughts. The house was quiet, the only sound being the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, each tick seemingly marking the passage of time that was slipping away with each passing second. Lorenzo had no idea about what had happened with Andrew, and the guilt gnawed at me relentlessly. I had come to my dad's for semester break, hoping that the distance would help me sort out my emotions. Yet, the space I sought only magnified the burden I carried.

Lorenzo and I talked on FaceTime almost every night. Each time his face appeared on the screen, his eyes lighting up when he saw me, the weight of my secret grew heavier. He missed me; he told me as much every time we talked. I missed him too, but how could I tell him the truth without destroying the very thing we had? The guilt was suffocating, a constant reminder of the kiss I shared with Andrew, a kiss that should never have happened.

Andrew hadn't reached out since that day, and I was relieved. But that relief was tinged with an unbearable sadness, because as much as I wanted to forget, I couldn't. The kiss had been a mistake, a brief moment of madness, but one that I couldn't stop replaying in my mind. There was something about Andrew that drew me in—a dangerous allure I couldn't explain. He was the quintessential bad boy, with his brooding eyes, a smirk that could melt my resolve, and an air of mystery that made him irresistible. But that wasn't what I wanted, was it? I had Lorenzo—sweet, dependable Lorenzo, who loved me with a sincerity that was rare to find. He was everything I should want, everything that should make me happy.

But the heart is a fickle thing. One night, I had a dream about Andrew. It was vivid, so real that I could still feel his touch long after I woke up. In the dream, we had slept together. I jolted awake, a cold sweat covering my skin, my heart racing as if I had just run a marathon. The dream unsettled me because it wasn't just a fleeting thought; it was a manifestation of something deeper, something I was too scared to acknowledge. I couldn't ignore it any longer—this wasn't just a silly crush. It was something more, something that terrified me to my core.

That morning, as I sat on the edge of my bed, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. My heart skipped a beat when I saw Andrew's name flash on the screen. His message was simple, just one word, but it sent my heart into a tailspin: "Hey."

I stared at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keys as I fought the urge to respond. But I couldn't resist. "Hey," I typed back, feeling a rush of emotions—excitement, dread, guilt—all swirling inside me like a storm.

"I thought you'd be mad about the kiss," he replied.

"We can't talk anymore, Andrew. You can never kiss me again," I typed, my fingers trembling.

"Why? I know you enjoyed it."

"Stop it, Andrew. I like Lorenzo, not you."

"Stop lying to yourself, Lilly."

His words cut deep because they echoed the truth I was too afraid to admit. I didn't reply. I couldn't. The truth was, I was lying to myself and to Lorenzo, and it was tearing me apart.

Later that day, desperate for a distraction, I turned on the TV and found myself watching my favorite telenovela. The protagonist, Ella, was caught in a love triangle, torn between the safe, dependable man who loved her and the dangerous, thrilling one who made her heart race. For the first time, I felt a painful kinship with her. I was Ella—torn between Lorenzo, who was everything I should want, and Andrew, who was everything I knew I shouldn't want but couldn't stop thinking about.