Maybe

Chapter 51 You can't run away next time

The day I was discharged, I promised myself one thing: I’d stay away. 

The guilt weighed heavily on me, but I convinced myself that avoiding him was the best way to make things right—or at least, less wrong. 

Whenever I noticed him waiting for the elevator, I’d quietly turn around and take the stairs instead, even if it meant climbing several floors. If we ended up in the same elevator by accident, I’d look anywhere but at him—counting the buttons, staring at my shoes, anything to avoid meeting his eyes. 

It was torture. Every time I saw him, I wanted to ask, Are you okay? How bad was it? Did you get hurt because of me? But the words stayed trapped in my throat, swallowed by my stubborn resolve to keep my distance. 

And yet, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Every time I saw his shadow or caught a glimpse of his profile, a pang of guilt hit me square in the chest. It didn’t matter how much I avoided him; the memory of what happened wouldn’t let me go. 

This was for the best, I told myself. He didn’t need me complicating things further. I just hoped he didn’t notice the way I flinched or turned away every time our paths crossed.  If he did, he didn’t say a word about it. 

It hurt to keep my distance, but I told myself it was the only way to fix what couldn’t be undone.

Tonight, something changed. 

I was just about to unlock my apartment door when I felt a hand grab mine. My breath hitched as I turned around, and there he was—Ethan. For the first time in days, I looked him in the eyes. They held that familiar intensity, but tonight, there was something else: frustration. 

“Why are you avoiding me?” he asked, his voice low but firm. 

I froze, my mind scrambling for an answer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, forcing my voice to stay even. I tried to pull my hand away, but his grip tightened just enough to keep me in place. 

His gaze narrowed. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been acting like I don’t exist. Taking the stairs, pretending not to see me—what’s going on?” 

I bit my lip, trying to find a way out of this. “Maybe you’re overthinking it,” I said, my tone light, almost dismissive. 

His jaw clenched. “Don’t lie to me.” 

I hesitated, feeling my resolve crumble under the weight of his stare. “I’m not lying,” I said softly, but even I didn’t believe it. 

“Then look me in the eyes and say it,” he challenged, his voice a notch softer now, but no less demanding. 

I couldn’t. I looked away, staring at the floor like it held all the answers I couldn’t give him. 

“See?” he said, almost bitterly. “You can’t even do that.” 

His words cut deeper than I expected. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze again, even though it hurt. “I just…” I trailed off, not knowing how to finish. 

“You just what?” he pressed, his tone somewhere between anger and concern. 

I wanted to tell him everything—the guilt, the worry, the way I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. But instead, all I managed was a whisper: “I thought it’d be easier this way.”