63. Chapter 58
No Good Bye at All
Evin
T he city lights stretched into blurred streaks against the car window.
The hum of the streets was muffled behind the glass, distant and detached, as she and Bas drove toward Ocean Park.
The night still clung to her skin—warm, electric—like it had settled deep into her bones.
The performance. The adrenaline. That fleeting sensation of existing in another world, weightless, if only for the fraction of a breath.
Now, it was all gone.
Now, she was here, in the passenger seat of Bas' car, the cool leather beneath her fingertips, and she could feel that something was wrong.
The silence between them wasn’t just silence. It was intentional. A distance that stretched further with every passing street, every turn, every flicker of the streetlights outside.
Normally, Bas would have said something.
Anything.
A sarcastic rem ark about the stiff parents in the front row who had applauded politely but without enthusiasm. A comment about the music, the lighting, or the guy who had walked up to her after the performance to congratulate her.
But Bas said nothing.
Evin pulled her knees slightly closer, pressing her fingers into the fabric of her dress. Her gaze drifted toward him. His profile was tense, his jaw tightening slightly, his fingers gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles had turned white.
“Everything okay?”
No reaction.
Only the flickering reflections of streetlights on his skin, the rhythmic blink of the turn signal as he changed lanes.
Evin swallowed. “Bas?”
He inhaled sharply, ran a hand through his hair as if bracing himself for whatever he was about to say. “I don’t want to ruin your night.”
She froze.
There it was.
That feeling of the ground slipping out from under her.
She leaned back against the door, the cool metal pressing through the thin fabric of her dress. “Then don’t.” She tried to keep her voice light, like it was just a dumb remark, but there was a slight tremor in it.
He stayed silent.
The only sound left was the low hum of the engine.
Evin watched him.
The way his fingers clenched around the steering wheel like it was the only thing anchoring him. The tension in his shoulders, his breathing too measured.
Then, quietly: “I had to make a decision.”
Her stomach twisted.
Her nails dug into the soft fabric of her dress. “What decision?”
For a second, panic clawed at her chest.
But she pushed it down.
Bas swallowed. They were almost there. The familiar silhouettes of the houses passed by, the deep blue of the ocean glowing faintly on the horizon.
He pulled into the driveway.
Turned off the engine.
And suddenly, everything was too quiet.
No more hum of the tires against the pavement. No more background noise to fill the space between them.
Just them. And whatever was about to happen.
He twisted the key in the ignition, let it rest in his palm for a moment before turning to face her. His eyes met hers—heavy, inescapable.
“This thing with London... it’s perfect for you.”
His voice was calm. Too calm.
Evin frowned. “So? What are you trying to say?”
He blinked once. The streetlamp outside cast a soft glow over his face, but she couldn’t read what was behind it.
Then, without looking away: “Maybe it’s better if we…”
She felt it before she heard it.
Like the air had been knocked from her lungs.
Like everything inside her clenched into itself, her stomach twisting as if she had been punched.
He didn’t have to finish the sentence.
“You’re doing it again.”
Her own voice sounded foreign to her ears.
Bas’ expression shifted. Surprise. Confusion. “What?”
“You’re making the decision for me. Telling me what’s best.”
Anger surged through her veins, hot and fast, before she could stop it.
It wasn’t even the fact that he wanted to end things.
It was the fact that he thought he had the right to.
“Evin, come on. That’s not what I meant—”
“No, Bas. Don’t tell me what to do. Don’t tell me what’s best for me!”
He exhaled, jaw tightening as if he was struggling with himself. “I just want you to be happy.”
A short, bitter laugh escaped her. “Oh yeah? And how exactly does this make me happy? ”
“It’s easier this way.”
“For who?”
He looked away.
“For you?”
Silence.
That was answer enough.
Evin unfastened her seatbelt with a sharp click. “I can’t do this anymore.” After all we've been through. After all I have been through…
She opened the door.
“Evin, wait.”
His voice was quiet, but she heard the strain in it.
She was already outside.
The warm air smothered her, thick and inescapable.
She didn’t turn around.
Didn’t look at him.
The anger burned in her chest, in her throat, in every part of her body.
And then—“Forget it, Bas.”
Her voice was steady.
Too steady.
“I’ll save you the trouble.”
And with that, she slammed the door shut.
__________
Sebastian
H e blinked as she slammed the car door shut. The dull impact echoed in his ears, vibrating through his bones, as if she hadn’t just shut the door—but somethi ng inside him, too.
His eyes followed her as she walked up the driveway, her shoulders tense, her chin lifted high, the night air biting at her skin—but she didn’t let it show. Every step was an unspoken rejection, a silent I get it.
He could get out now.
Could run after her, take her hand, make her look at him, listen to him, believe him when he said he had no other choice.
But his body wouldn’t move.
His fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly it hurt, his knuckles stark white. He felt like he wasn’t even in this moment anymore, like he was watching himself from the outside, like none of this was really happening.
He closed his eyes and let his head rest against the headrest, trying to loosen the tightness in his chest, but it didn’t help. This wasn’t a weight he could shake off with a deep breath. This was hollow, a bottomless feeling, as if someone had cut open his chest and taken the most vital part.
This wasn’t how he had planned for it to go.
He had thought he could control this. That he could take the decision away from her, guide her toward the right path without making it feel like a betrayal. That he could frame it in a way that wouldn’t feel like an ending, but an inevitable, logical step.
But Evin had taken that chance from him.
She had ended it herself. Slammed the door herself. Thrown down the final card before he could even get a full sentence out. She hadn’t asked for an explanation, hadn’t even given him the time for excuses or weak attempts to soften the blow.
And maybe that was the only fair thing about this.
Maybe she had every damn right to leave him standing there, without a second question, without a final glance.
His hand moved instinctively to his jacket pocket, fingers twitching toward his phone, as if a single message could undo this.
But it was too late. The message that sealed everything had already been sent.
Instead, he let his hand drop, only now realizing that there was nothing left to hold onto .
He had made his choice.
It was over.
With a resigned sigh, he let his phone slip onto the passenger seat and closed his eyes again, as if he could freeze this moment, hold onto it before reality crashed down on him.
For the longest time, he had believed she wanted him to transform.
Loving her seemed to mean becoming someone else—better, cleaner, more deserving.
But maybe… that was never the truth.
Maybe it had always been about him.
The boy who was told all his life that he was already the ideal. The example others should admire.
And for a while, he believed it.
He built himself around that image—untouchable, controlled, always one step ahead.
But the moment she looked at him—not like a project, not like a prize, but like a person—it started to crack.
Not because she asked for more.
But because she didn’t.
And that was the scariest part.
She didn’t try to change him. She saw the mess and stayed.
And somehow, that made him feel more exposed than any demand ever could.
He had mistaken her silence for judgment.
Her patience for disappointment.
Her love for pressure.
But it wasn’t her.
It was him.
The battle he had been fighting with himself.
The fear that if someone really saw him—as he was, behind all the noise—they’d realize he wasn’t enough.
Only she didn’t run.
She never did .
No, he was the one who pulled away.
Because somewhere deep down, he thought she deserved more.
And that belief had nothing to do with her.
But it was too late now.
The thought dug into him like a splinter—small, almost invisible, but deep enough that he wouldn’t be able to ignore it.
It was too late to undo it. Too late to go back. Too late to tell her that he hated watching her walk away.
Too late to admit that it felt like he had just lost everything.