FATE - can a person in one lifetime fall in love with the same person twice?

Chapter 42

After the flowers, he sent dessert the very next day—everything I loved, meticulously chosen from different places. Five of each, enough to turn my living room into a makeshift bakery. My parents exchanged knowing glances, their silent curiosity filling the air.

I pretended not to notice my parents' lingering stares, focusing instead on arranging the desserts into neat rows on the coffee table. Their silent questions hung in the air, unspoken but impossible to ignore. Still, I kept my head down, refusing to acknowledge their curiosity.

When I finally stepped back to look at the table, it was overwhelming. There was too much dessert—far too much for a single person, or even the three of us, to finish. The sheer volume was enough to transform our living room into a miniature bakery. I sighed, unsure whether to laugh at the absurdity or feel burdened by the gesture.

After some thought, I carefully selected a few of my favorites to keep. The rest, I packed up and sent to the orphanage nearby. It was more than enough to bring smiles to those children, and the thought of them enjoying it made me feel lighter.

Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to part with everything. I told myself it didn’t matter if I kept a few. After all, who was going to tell Eden I ate them? I certainly wouldn’t.

Later that evening, as I nibbled on a piece of chocolate tart, I caught my mother watching me from the corner of her eye. There was a faint smile on her lips, but she said nothing, only shaking her head before returning to her book. My father, sitting across the room, gave me a knowing glance over the rim of his newspaper but stayed silent as well.

I hated that they were reading into this more than I wanted them to. It wasn’t about the desserts, I told myself. Or the flowers the day before. Or whatever Eden had planned next.

But deep down, I knew they were wondering the same thing I was: what did all of this mean? And more importantly, what was I going to do about it?

By the third day, Eden's persistence hadn’t waned. This time, it came in the form of a handwritten letter, tucked among a stack of books I had been wanting to read. How he knew about my reading list puzzled me at first—until I remembered the note I had left pinned to the shelf in my room. That must have been it.

I glanced at the books again. Nestled between their spines was the letter, folded neatly and handled with care. My fingers lingered over it, hesitating. The sight of his familiar handwriting on the envelope felt like a weight pressing against my chest, tightening my breath.

I slipped the letter into the drawer of my nightstand, leaving it unopened.

I wasn’t ready. Not yet.

The air in my room felt heavier, so I walked out, hoping the rest of the house would feel less suffocating.

“He’s persistent, isn’t he?” my mother remarked as she leaned against the doorway. Her expression balanced between amusement and concern, a mix I wasn’t ready to face.

I shrugged, feigning indifference. “It’s too much.”

“Too much effort or too much for your heart to handle?” she asked softly, her voice probing yet gentle. The sting of her insight hit me squarely in the chest. She always had a way of seeing through me, peeling back the layers I tried so hard to keep intact.

I didn’t answer, the silence speaking louder than any words I could muster.

My mother stepped closer, her gaze softening. “He’s trying, Azalea,” she said gently, her tone carrying a weight that made it hard to dismiss. “He clearly regrets whatever happened.”

I shook my head, avoiding her eyes. “Trying doesn’t erase what he did,” I murmured, the words falling heavier than I anticipated.

My father, seated in his usual spot in the armchair, had been quietly observing the exchange. He set down his book with a soft sigh but didn’t speak, his silence offering an unspoken support that I both appreciated and resented.