29. Chapter 24
The Illusion of Patience
Evin
S ergej had a way of disguising pressure as patience.
He never outright asked for anything; that wasn’t his style.
Instead, he wrapped his expectations in feigned understanding, in carefully chosen words that made it seem as if he was the only one who truly understood her.
And for a while, Evin had let herself believe in that illusion. She had convinced herself it was real.
At first, he had seemed different—attentive, genuinely interested.
He asked about her ballet, her training, the way movement lived in her muscles like second nature.
He would watch her stretch, murmuring how mesmerizing it was to see such quiet strength, making her feel like, for a brief moment, he really saw her.
And maybe, at the start, he had.
But the shift had come sooner than she realized.
The thoughtful messages had started centering on him.
Their conversations became one-sided. His cu riosity faded, replaced by an expectation she couldn’t quite name at first—but she could feel it.
In the way he looked at her, in the things he said, in the way his patience wasn’t really patience at all.
It began subtly—a lingering joke, a touch that lasted a second too long.
“We both know you want to,” he’d say, that signature smirk curling at his lips.
A smirk that had once made her heart race.
Now, it made her stomach twist. At first, she had laughed it off, treated it as harmless teasing.
But lately, it felt different. Like a weight pressing down on her, like something closing in.
One evening, they sat on his couch, his arm draped loosely around her shoulders.
“Come on, Evin,” Sergej murmured, his voice low, coaxing. “You can’t expect me to believe you don’t think about it.”
She scoffed, shifting slightly, putting space between them. “You sound like a guy from some bad Netflix movie.”
Sergej chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m just saying, we have fun, don’t we?” He ran a slow hand down her arm, fingers brushing her skin lightly, deliberately. It wasn’t a touch that asked—it was a touch that assumed. “It’s not like I’m rushing you. I’m patient.”
“Right,” she muttered, raising an eyebrow. “So patient that we somehow end up having this conversation every single time?”
For the briefest moment, his grip on her arm tightened before he let go, leaning back with a heavy sigh. “I don’t want to fight.”
“Then don’t start one.”
He exhaled loudly, tilting his head as he studied her, eyes sharp with something unreadable. “You know,” he mused, voice light but edged, “sometimes I feel like you like making me wait.”
A strange, uneasy chill crawled up her spine. His tone was playful, but beneath it, there was something sharper. Something that made her skin feel too tight.
“Are you serious right now?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Relax.” He ran a hand through his buzzed hair, the picture of exasperated amusement. “I just mean… you kinda like the game more than you admit, d on’t you?”
She froze.
It was the way he said it. Like he had figured something out about her, like he thought he understood her better than she understood herself. Like he was doing her a favor by saying it out loud.
And just like that, everything clicked into place.
“Wow,” she muttered, her voice flat. “That’s a new low.”
“Evin.” His smirk faded just enough to make her second-guess herself, to make her wonder if she was overreacting.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” He reached for her hand, and in that moment, the touch seemed both tender and invasive.
She hesitated for a split second before letting him take it.
“I just—I can’t help it. How can you blame me for wanting you? ”
Her throat tightened. The words sounded sweet, like something she was supposed to be flattered by. But she wasn’t.
She was tired.
“Maybe you should learn some self-control.”
Something flickered in his eyes, brief but unmistakable. His jaw clenched, but just as quickly, he smoothed his expression over. “You’re impossible.”
She exhaled, her body tense, her pulse drumming in her ears. She wanted to leave. Wanted to stand up, grab her jacket, and go.
But she didn’t.
Because his fingers were still loosely intertwined with hers, his thumb brushing absently against her palm. Because his voice softened, barely above a whisper.
“You know I’d never force you, right?”
It was a question he didn’t actually expect an answer to. It was meant to be reassuring, meant to pull her back in.
And it worked.
Evin swallowed, forcing herself to nod. “I know.”
Sergej smiled, and this time, it wasn’t sharp or teasing. It was warm. Gentle. Almost enough to make her forget what had just been said.
Almost.
__________
Th e days after her last encounter with Sergej flew by in a blur.
Evin barely had time to dwell on what had transpired between them.
School, ballet, and her friends demanded her full attention.
Upcoming exams stole her sleep, grueling training sessions kept her occupied, and chats with her girlfriends helped her forget the mounting pressure.
It was as if her life was finally falling back into its usual rhythm.
Yet, even as she focused on the important things in her life, Sergej still lingered at the edges of her mind—but not in the way he used to. The constant thrill, the overwhelming pull he once had over her, had faded. Now, he was just a memory, slowly losing its grip.
Evin had come to realize that her priorities had shifted. Her friends were present, her exams loomed ahead, and ballet had become her anchor in this chaotic world.
And then, there was Bas.
No matter how much she tried to push him out of her thoughts, he crept back in.
Deep down, she knew it was Bas, not Sergej, who truly made her feel something real.
And no matter how many times Sergej reached out to her, she knew now that he wasn’t what she wanted. Sure, Sergej had been exciting, no doubt about that. But what she craved now was clarity, peace. She was tired of being trapped in a game with rules she didn’t understand—or like.
It was time to draw a line, to end things on her terms.
No drama, no escalation. Just clarity.
After a few days of keeping to herself, Evin decided to meet Sergej. This time, she would have the conversation that had been a long time coming.
No unspoken expectations, no games. She’d be honest and tell him how she felt—that she didn’t want to continue.
She shot Sergej a quick message: "Let’s talk Friday evening."
She hit send and felt a wave of relief wash over her. It was time to leave this c hapter behind.
_________
Wednesday morning began like any other. Evin sat in class, her mind swimming with formulas and notes.
She hadn’t slept much, the looming exams weighing heavily on her, but strangely, she felt calm—almost at ease.
Over the past few days, she had thrown herself into school and her friends, and Sergej had faded further into the background.
“Evin? You okay?” Milka nudged her gently with her elbow, her expression curious.
Evin blinked, forcing a small smile. “Yeah, just thinking.”
She wasn’t lying. She had been thinking—about how easy it was, once she stopped answering him, once she shifted her focus elsewhere. The realization settled in her bones like something solid, something she could trust.
After school, it was straight to ballet. The studio was brightly lit, the warm wooden floor beneath her feet instantly grounding her. Here, she could let go. As she stretched at the barre, she felt the familiar pull in her muscles, the satisfying tension that she loved so much.
Nele glanced at her as they warmed up side by side. "You look more focused than usual," she remarked, stretching her leg over the barre.
Evin shrugged. "I have to be. The performance is coming up."
And it was true. She had other things to focus on—things that mattered.
The rehearsals went smoothly, better than expected.
By the time Evin left the dance studio, she felt tired, but in a good way. The stress of the past few days seemed to have melted away. As she walked across the parking lot, the cool evening air brushed against her skin. Everything felt so orderly, so clear.
But despite this newfound clarity, there was still her thing with Sergej left unfinished.
The thought of the upcoming meeting hovered over her like a cloud. She needed to get it over with, to close that chapter and refocus on what truly matter ed—school, ballet, and her friends.
Thursday passed without incident. Another day at school, another rehearsal.
But as Friday loomed closer, a faint sense of unease crept in.
Not because of Sergej himself—she was certain of her decision—but because of what the meeting symbolized.
It was a choice, a definitive end that would free her from him once and for all.
That evening, as she sat at her desk reviewing notes, her phone lit up again
Sergej
Don’t flake on me, Evin.
I’m serious.
She exhaled sharply. Sergej wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore.
She had already made up her mind, but something about his words left an unsettled feeling in her stomach.
On Friday evening, she finally slipped on her jacket, took a deep breath, and headed out the door.
She knew she was doing the right thing. So why did it still feel like she was walking into something she wasn’t ready for?