Every Way Back To You

Chapter 1

Eli

The gallery buzzed with well-dressed guests drifting from one piece to the next. Glasses clinked, laughter cut through quiet conversation, and warm light reflected off polished wooden floors. I leaned against the far wall, nursing a glass of wine. Another opening night. Another win.

People surrounded me. Admirers, critics, "friends" mostly here for the glamour and free drinks. They lingered near my latest photo series of abstract portraits capturing the raw beauty of London. Grime, chaos, and the untold stories etched in strangers' faces.

By all accounts, it was a success. The critics loved it. The gallery had already sold several pieces. Normally, this kind of validation lit me up.

But tonight felt off. I feigned interest in the compliments, but I wasn't really paying attention. The voices around me blended into a droning hum as I glanced at my phone. I still hadn't answered Rowan's text.

How's the gallery going? Hope it's a good night for you.

I sighed and slipped the phone back into my pocket. I'd message him later. Right now, my focus was supposed to be here.

I could already feel eyes on me, waiting for the next smile or clever line. I was a fixture in these circles now, and I played the part well. But on nights like this, I was running on autopilot.

I tugged at my collar and glanced around the room. Rebecca stood in the far corner, holding court with a few gallery regulars. She was middle-aged, overly polished, and forever chasing some elusive elite status. And she always seemed to hover nearby. It was exhausting.

Her laughter cut through the room, and then she spotted me. Smiling with her champagne flute poised like an accessory, she made her way over with that practised elegance she tried a little too hard to sell. I stifled a groan.

"Elias, darling," she cooed, kissing my cheek. "You've done it again."

I forced a smile back. "Glad you think so."

Her eyes sparkled as she glanced over at my work. "The portraits are positively divine. Everyone's talking about them." Her perfume nearly overpowered me as she leaned in to brush my arm. "You must be thrilled."

"Of course." The words came automatically with the hope that she'd move on.

She didn't take the hint. Instead, she prattled on about the latest art world gossip.

I nodded and spoke when I needed to, but I tuned her out as much as I could get away with.

I should've felt more satisfaction. These were my photos, after all.

Months of work, countless hours chasing light and shadow across the city. Each one had a unique story.

But as I stood there, I just felt tired. Tired of what exactly, I didn't know. I just didn't have the energy to be here.

Rebecca's voice cut through the din. "You should come to dinner with me and a few friends this weekend. We're doing a little thing at my place in Chelsea. Just a small crowd."

"Sure. Sounds nice."

She smiled, apparently satisfied with my half-hearted answer. "Great. I'll send your manager the details."

As she floated off to the next group of guests, I exhaled slowly, hoping my relief didn't show. I'd done it again. I'd given just enough to keep people happy and keep things moving.

But I intended to find an excuse to avoid that party.

My phone buzzed. Nadia's name and a short text flashed on the screen: Can we talk tonight?

I already knew what that meant. She'd been hinting for weeks that she wanted more from me. She wasn't the first to ask, and she wouldn't be the last.

I replied quickly: Sure. Be there soon.

The night was winding down, anyway, and the idea of staying in that gallery didn't appeal to me. I said my goodbyes, offered a few last smiles and handshakes, and stepped out into the night.

The gallery's hum faded behind me as I walked. London felt different at night. The streets were quieter, less frantic, more alive in a way I could never quite explain. This city was my muse, my home, my escape. But even in all its chaos, I still felt alone.

On the way to Nadia's flat, my thoughts wandered to the pattern my life had fallen into. Success. Admiration. Fleeting connections. I was always chasing something. The next project, the next person. But nothing ever stuck. Something was always missing.

My last few relationships had all started great. Exciting and full of promise. But the spark never lasted. They always fizzled out and left me right back where I started.

I wasn't a bad person. I wasn't cold or callous or careless. I wanted to connect with people. I wanted something real. But when it came down to it, I could never feel the way they needed me to.

When I reached Nadia's flat, I knocked and braced myself for the conversation ahead. She opened the door almost immediately, her jaw already tight with discontent. Nadia was usually calm and composed, never one to show emotion easily. But right now, the stiffness in her posture said plenty.

Without a word, she stepped aside to let me through.

Her flat was neat as always. The scent of lavender lingered in the air, and everything was perfectly placed. Even the fresh lilies on the coffee table felt curated. She used to say she preferred things simple. Less clutter, fewer distractions.

Looking at these minimalist rooms, I wondered how we ever clicked at all. Her world was organised and quiet. Mine was controlled chaos filled with half-finished projects, cluttered corners, and photo gear always sitting in the way. Nothing about me fit neatly into her space.

She took a seat on the far end of the sofa while I sat closer to the door. Her voice already sounded heavy with exhaustion. "Elias... I can't do this anymore."

Nadia wasn't the type to start a conversation unless she knew exactly what she wanted to say. So I didn't interrupt.

"I just don't understand you. One minute, you're all in, and the next, it's like you're not even here.

You're somewhere else entirely." She paused to look at me, as if waiting for some kind of reaction.

She didn't get one. "I don't know what you want from this.

I don't even know what we're doing anymore. "

I had no clue what to say to that. Nadia wasn't a fling. She wasn't a distraction. She was smart, kind, and steady. She cared about me. And I knew that. I'd really wanted this to work.

I tried to find the right thing to say, but nothing came to mind. She wasn't wrong about me. I had a habit of pulling back just when things got too close. I never did it on purpose, but that didn't make it hurt any less for the people I left behind.

"It's not that I don't care about you," I started, trying to give her the honesty she deserved. "I do. I just... I don't know how to do this the way you want me to."

Her expression tightened, frustration and fatigue written all over her face. "You say that, but what does it even mean? I've tried to be patient. I gave you space. I thought maybe you just needed time, but it's been months. And I still don't know where we stand."

I sighed, rubbing my hands together as guilt settled in my chest. She wasn't being unreasonable. She wasn't asking for anything out of line. She just wanted to know if this was going somewhere. If I was really in it. And I couldn't give her a straight answer.

"I'm not trying to hurt you. You're amazing – "

"Don't." Her voice cut in sharp. "Don't say that if you don't mean it."

The words lodged in my throat.

Her expression shifted from anger into something quieter. Sadder. The look she gave me made it clear that she was finally seeing me for who I really was. Not the man she hoped I could be, but one who couldn't give her what she needed.

"I think I've been fooling myself," she said after a long pause. "I thought maybe you'd come around eventually. But you're not there, are you?"

I shook my head. "I don't think I am. And that's not fair to you."

She let out a breath and leaned back, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "You're right. It's not."

We sat in silence for what felt like forever. I wanted to explain why I was like this, why I couldn't seem to connect the way she wanted me to, but I didn't even know the reason.

After a few minutes, she stood and crossed the room to stand at the window. The soft glow of the city lights outside framed her silhouette. "I just thought maybe this time would be different. I thought you could be different."

I rose slowly. I wanted to help her understand it wasn't her fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. But saying so wouldn't make it easier. So rather than drag it out, I said, "I wish I could be."

She turned to look at me. Her eyes were softer now, but the space between us had never felt wider. "I think we're done here." Her words were calm now. Resigned.

"Yeah. I think we are."

She didn't say anything else, so I left quietly. As the door closed behind me, I caught myself staring at the wood grain. Another relationship gone. Another reminder that I couldn't be what someone needed.

I'd been through this too many times before. I didn't know what I wanted. I never seemed to know. I had everything I thought I wanted. Success, recognition, a life full of motion. But none of it settled whatever it was that kept tugging at me.

I thought about calling someone, but even the idea of small talk was too much right now. Instead, I made my way outside and started walking. The cool night air brushed against my face as the city faded into a blur of streetlights and shadow.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it. I didn't want to be reachable tonight. I just wanted to let London's endless, restless energy carry me somewhere else.