The hate between us

Chapter 5: His Point of View

The moment our hands brushed, it was like the air shifted between us, crackling with something I couldn't put into words. It was a simple touch—accidental, really—but it jolted through me like a live wire. I should've ignored it, should've walked away without thinking twice.

But I couldn't. Not this time.

As soon as I felt the softness of her skin against mine, I pulled my hand away and stood up, needing space—*distance*. I couldn't stay in that room any longer, surrounded by grieving faces and the heaviness of death, with her sitting right next to me. She had been avoiding my eyes all day, but the tension had only thickened between us since the second I walked into that church.

Without a word, I left the reception hall, moving into the garden. The cool air was a welcome relief, but my mind was still reeling. Five years. Five years since I last saw her, and somehow, the hate hadn't disappeared—it had transformed into something else, something more dangerous.

I ran a hand through my hair, pacing near the hedge. I wasn't prepared for this—for her. I thought the years would make it easier, that time apart would dull the sharp edges of whatever this was between us. But seeing her again... it felt like everything we'd ever buried had risen to the surface, raw and unfiltered.

I didn't know how long I stood there, lost in my own thoughts, but when I looked up, I realized she was nowhere to be seen. The reception continued inside, but Ella—she was gone.

I knew where she'd gone. The maze.

Without thinking, I started walking toward it. There was something instinctive about it, like I knew she would be in there, wandering through the paths that had once been my escape as a kid. She had always hated the maze. I knew why—there was a story there, one that lingered in the back of my mind, a memory of her crying in one when we were younger.

I quickened my pace, stepping into the maze. My feet carried me through the familiar twists and turns, but my chest tightened with an unexpected urgency. It wasn't just concern—it was something deeper. Something I didn't want to admit.

When I found her, leaning against the hedge, her body shaking with fear, something inside me shifted. I couldn't leave her like that. Not again.

---

"You're lost," I said, keeping my voice low.

She didn't look at me, just nodded, her breath uneven.

I stepped closer, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her again. I couldn't let her see the effect she had on me—the way my heart had been racing since the moment I saw her at the funeral.

"Come on," I said, my tone softer now. "I'll get you out."

Without hesitation, I took her hand. This time, she didn't pull away. Her hand was cold, trembling slightly, but the warmth between us ignited something in me that I couldn't shake. I walked her through the maze, every step heightening the tension that stretched between us. It wasn't the same as before. The hostility was still there, buried under the surface, but there was something else—something more intense.

When we finally reached the edge of the maze, I could feel her relief, but she still looked shaken. She leaned against the wall, her face pale, her breath still shaky.

"Why didn't you just call for help?" I asked, unable to keep the concern from creeping into my voice. She didn't answer, just stared at the ground, her hands still trembling slightly.

Without thinking, I moved closer, and before I knew what I was doing, I pulled her into my arms.

She froze for a moment, and so did I. But then, she relaxed against me, and I felt her shoulders shake as silent tears fell against my chest. I tightened my grip on her, the familiar scent of her hair sending a rush of heat through me. I didn't say anything—there was nothing to say. I just held her, feeling her soft breaths against me, feeling the weight of years of tension between us begin to shift into something else.

When she finally pulled away, her eyes met mine, and for the first time, I didn't see hate in them. I saw something deeper, something that scared me more than anything.

---

We returned to the house in silence, the air between us still thick with unspoken words. The others were still at the reception, but we made our way into the kitchen, as if we both needed to escape the heaviness of the day.

The quiet in the house felt strange—too intimate. We sat down to eat, but neither of us spoke. I watched her from across the table, her eyes fixed on her plate, her hair falling in soft waves around her face.

The silence wasn't awkward, though. It was heavy—charged, like the air before a storm. Every once in a while, I caught her glancing at me, her lips pressed into a thin line, as if she was holding back words she couldn't quite say.

When we finished, she stood up and took her plate to the sink, starting to wash the dishes. I watched her from behind, unable to stop my eyes from lingering on the curve of her back, the way her body moved under the dim kitchen light.

God, she was... beautiful.

I shouldn't have been thinking it. I shouldn't have been *feeling* it. But there she was, standing in front of me, so close and yet so far, and all I could think about was how much I wanted her. How I could take her right there, right then, and I knew she'd feel the same heat I was feeling.

I stood up slowly, walking toward the counter, my eyes still on her. There was a glass on the cupboard just above her head, and as I reached for it, she turned around.

Suddenly, we were face to face, closer than we had ever been.

She stared up at me, her wide eyes locking with mine, and I could feel the warmth of her breath against my neck. I was one head taller than her, and for a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the space between us. The tension that had been simmering all night now crackled between us, alive, raw.

We were touching, barely, but it was enough. Her body was pressed slightly against mine, and my hand, still raised to grab the glass, hovered just above her head. Neither of us moved, neither of us breathed.

I could see the conflict in her eyes—the same conflict I felt. The years of hate, the rivalry, all of it tangled with the desire that pulsed between us.

I didn't know if I should step back, break the moment before it broke me. But I couldn't move.