Mihai
MIHAI
S ofia drags me away from the fire, her fingers gripping my arm a little too tightly, pulling me toward a quieter part of the garden. It’s not the first time she’s done this—taken control, led me off somewhere private.
It used to be a welcome escape, a way for us to be alone without the weight of everyone watching. But now… now it feels uncomfortable.
She keeps talking, her voice smooth and low, like she’s trying to coax me into something I’ll regret. She’s always been good at this—getting me to bend to her will, making me feel like I need her in some way.
But tonight, it’s not working. My attention isn’t on her words, or even on the way she’s standing too close, her hand tracing the line of my arm.
It’s on Maddy.
I can’t stop thinking about her. How she smiled, how she laughed—because of me. How, for the first time since this whole mess started, I saw a glimpse of the girl she used to be. A girl I want to protect, not because it’s my duty, but because I care. Too much, maybe. But I care.
“,” Sofia’s voice snaps me back to the present, and I realize I’ve barely been listening to her.
She’s standing in front of me now, closer than before, her hand on my chest, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric of my shirt.
“Are you even listening to me?” she asks, her tone sharp, annoyed.
I blink, forcing myself to focus. “Yeah, I’m listening.”
But I’m not. I’m not really here. Not with her and the more Sofia talks, the less I care about what she’s saying.
It’s strange. I used to feel something around Sofia—attraction, perhaps even a sense of obligation because of our history. But now? Now it’s like all of that has faded.
Sofia doesn’t seem to notice, though. She’s too focused on whatever game she’s playing, her eyes narrowing slightly as she presses her body against mine.
“We could get away from all this,” she murmurs, her hand sliding up to my neck. “Just for a while. You and me. Like old times.”
I stare down at her, but all I feel is… nothing. There’s no spark, no pull. Not the way there used to be. Her touch feels like just that—a touch. Nothing more. Nothing less. It’s like my body’s gone numb to her, and the realization makes my stomach twist uncomfortably.
Sofia leans in, her lips brushing against my jaw, and that’s when it hits me—I don’t want this. Not with her. Not anymore.
I gently take her wrists in my hands, stopping her from getting any closer. She pulls back slightly, her eyes wide with surprise, like she didn’t expect me to reject her. And honestly? Neither did I.
“?” she says, her voice soft, confused.
I meet her gaze, my grip on her wrists firm but not harsh as I hold them between us. “We can’t keep doing this, Sofia.”
Her brows knit together in confusion, and I can see the hurt flash across her face before she hides it behind that perfect mask of hers. “What are you talking about?” she asks, her voice sharp again, defensive.
“This,” I say, gesturing between us. “Whatever this is. We can’t keep pretending it works. It doesn’t.”
Sofia’s mouth tightens, and she pulls her wrists out of my grip, stepping back. “So, what? You’re just going to walk away? After everything?”
I nod, feeling the weight of the decision settle in my chest. “Yeah. It’s time to walk away.”
She stares at me, her lips pressing into a thin line, and I can see the emotions swirling in her eyes—anger, hurt, frustration. But beneath all of that, there’s something else too.
Resignation. She knows I’m right. She’s known it for a while.
Before she can say anything else, I turn and walk away, leaving her standing there. It’s not easy, but it feels like the right thing to do. I can’t keep pretending, can’t keep going through the motions when my heart isn’t in it. Not when my thoughts are constantly pulled somewhere else.
To someone else.
I walk through the garden, the cool night air helping clear my head. My mind is still buzzing with everything that just happened, but there’s a strange sense of relief too. Like I’ve finally let go of the one thing that’s been weighing me down for far too long.
As I round the corner, I spot them—Maddy, Chiara, Connor, and Giovanni, all sitting on the grass near the bonfire, talking and laughing like they don’t have a care in the world. Maddy’s sitting between Chiara and Connor, her blonde hair catching the firelight, her smile soft but genuine. She looks… happy. Happier than I’ve seen her in a long time.
And just like that, all the tension I’ve been carrying melts away.
I stop in my tracks, watching them from a distance, not wanting to interrupt. Maddy’s smiling at something Chiara said, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the fire or perhaps from the comfort of being around people she trusts. It’s a sight I hadn’t expected to see so soon, but there it is.
She’s surrounded by people who are making her smile, making her laugh. And that’s enough.
I lean against a nearby tree, watching them quietly for a while. It’s strange, this feeling of contentment I get just from seeing her like this. I’m not used to it. I’m not used to caring like this. But I do. And that scares the hell out of me.
I glance over at Connor, who’s watching Maddy with that protective look in his eyes, like he’s ready to step in if anyone tries to mess with her. He catches me watching and raises an eyebrow, a silent question in his gaze. You good?
I nod, giving him a small, barely-there smile. Yeah. I’m good.
He smirks, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, and turns back to the group. Chiara’s talking animatedly now, her hands gesturing wildly as she tells some story that has everyone laughing. Giovanni’s leaning back, arms crossed, but even he’s smirking at whatever chaos Chiara’s stirring up.
And Maddy? She’s just soaking it all in, her eyes bright, her body relaxed in a way I haven’t seen before.
I could walk over there. I could join them. But something tells me that tonight, it’s better if I don’t. She’s doing fine without me, and that’s a good thing. She’s finding her own way through all this, in her own time, with people who are helping her heal in ways I never could.
So instead of stepping forward, I stay where I am, watching them from a distance.