Kismet | ENGLOT

Chapter 43

Charlotte's POV:

As I sat in the back of the Uber, the quiet hum of the engine barely registering, my mind raced with everything I wanted to say to Engfa. Words tumbled over one another in a chaotic mess, a blur of confessions, apologies, and truths that had been buried for too long. I clenched my fists in my lap, my heart pounding relentlessly as I tried to rehearse what I would say.

"I never stopped loving you," I murmured under my breath, testing the weight of the words. But the moment they left my lips, they felt too raw, too vulnerable, and I shook my head, pressing my fingers against my temples. "No, that's not how I start."

My chest felt tight, each breath a struggle as emotions threatened to spill over. I needed to be honest with her, to explain everything—about Harry, about the choices I made, about how every decision had been out of love for her, even if it had hurt us both. But how? How could I find the words when my heart was a storm, tearing through me with its intensity?

The city lights streaked past the window, their soft glow reflecting in the rain-slicked streets. The neon signs and passing cars blurred together, just as my thoughts did. I gripped the edge of my jacket, my fingers trembling as I whispered to myself, "I'll tell her the truth. That's all I can do."

But even as I said it, doubt crept in. What if she didn't believe me? What if it was too late? The image of her with Chompu flashed in my mind, twisting my stomach into knots. I tried to shove the thought away, focusing instead on the memory of her eyes earlier today—the fleeting hurt and confusion I'd seen there. That look had shattered me, and I couldn't let it linger without giving her the truth.

I glanced down at the ring on my finger, the diamond catching the dim light of the car. It was both a reminder of what we had and a promise of what I still held onto. I clenched my fist, the cool metal grounding me as I whispered, "You can do this. You have to."

The car slowed, the driver announcing softly that we had arrived. My heart leapt into my throat as I peered out the window. There it was—Joe's Bar, its warm glow spilling onto the sidewalk. My pulse quickened as I reached for the door handle, my urgency outweighing my fear.

"Thank you," I murmured to the driver, my voice barely audible as I stepped out into the crisp night air.

The moment I pushed through the bar's door, the familiar scent of wood and faint traces of whiskey hit me, along with the hum of conversation and laughter. My eyes scanned the room urgently, searching for her. My heart hammered in my chest as I spotted her in the corner, sitting with Patcha and Nessa, a drink in her hand.

She looked... breathtaking. Her dark hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders, her casual yet confident posture somehow commanding the space around her. The soft glow of the bar's lights cast a golden hue over her features, and for a moment, I felt frozen. Memories of us flooded my mind—her laughter, her touch, the way she used to look at me as if I was her entire world.

But now, she wasn't looking at me. She was smiling faintly at something Patcha had said, her expression relaxed yet distant, as if part of her wasn't truly present. The sight of her like that, so close yet so far, sent a sharp ache through my chest.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. "This is it," I whispered. "No more running."

My legs felt heavy as I began to walk toward her, the noise of the bar fading into the background. Every step felt monumental, as if I were crossing a chasm that had stretched between us for years. My heart pounded harder with each step, my palms damp as I clenched them at my sides.

When I reached the table, she looked up. Her eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. Her smile faltered, replaced by something I couldn't quite read—surprise, confusion, and a flicker of something deeper. Patcha and Nessa turned toward me, their expressions shifting from lightheartedness to shock as they registered who was standing before them.