thirtyfour
Aaliyah's POV
We walk.
Side by side.
Slow.
Neither of us speaks at first.
Campus is quiet—late afternoon sun turning everything gold. Students pass around us laughing, brushing by, living normal lives.
Meanwhile my heart is beating so hard it's embarrassing.
Leo keeps his hands in his pockets.
His shoulders are tense.
His eyes stay ahead, not daring to touch me unless I make the first move.
He's giving me space.
Too much, honestly.
After a minute, I glance up at him.
He's not looking at me... but I can see him in my peripheral vision.
Jaw tight.
Eyes soft and exhausted.
Like he's terrified of scaring me away.
It does something awful to my chest.
"You don't have to walk this slow," I mumble.
His breath catches.
He glances down at me.
"Don't wanna rush you."
I shake my head, eyes forward.
"You're allowed to walk like a normal human."
He huffs a tiny, barely-there laugh.
"...Okay."
But he still keeps a gentle two feet between us.
So I... close the distance by a few inches.
Not touching.
But closer.
He notices.
His breath stumbles.
And something warm flickers between us.
We turn the corner toward my building, and for the first time, he breaks the silence.
His voice is low.
Rough.
"Aaliyah... you have every right to be mad at me."
I swallow hard. "I know."
"But I just—I need you to know—"
His voice cracks, forcing him to pause.
"I've never panicked like that in my life."
My heart squeezes.
He continues, slower:
"When I saw your face..."
He swallows.
"...I felt like my chest got ripped open."
I look down because suddenly my eyes sting again.
Leo notices.
He takes a shaky breath.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "Really fucking sorry."
I blink up at him.
He looks like he's bracing for impact.
I whisper, "I believe you."
He stops walking.
Actually stops.
I turn to face him fully.
"I believe you," I repeat.
Soft.
Small.
But real.
His expression crumbles—
not in relief—
in something deeper.
Something vulnerable.
Something like hope returning for the first time.
"Liya..." he whispers, barely breathing.
"I'm still hurt," I admit. "And I still need to move slow. But... I believe you didn't do anything wrong."
Something flickers behind his eyes—bright and shaken.
He nods once, too hard, like he's holding back emotion.
"Thank you," he whispers.
We walk again.
Closer this time.
Almost brushing.
By the time we reach my building, the sun is almost down.
I stop at my steps and turn to him.
He stands there awkwardly—hands in pockets, shoulders stiff, like he doesn't know if he should leave or stay or collapse into the grass.
"Liya," he murmurs, "I can go. I don't want to push you."
God.
God, this man is killing me.
I take a tiny breath.
Then say quietly:
"Do you... want to come inside?"
His head snaps up.
His eyes widen.
"A-are you sure?"
I nod.
"Yeah."
I hesitate.
"But... only if you're calm. I don't want you spiraling again."
His throat works.
"I'm calm," he whispers. "I promise."
I unlock the door and step inside.
He stays outside for half a second too long—like he's waiting to be certain he's actually allowed.
My heart twists.
I lift the door slightly in a quiet invitation.
"Leo," I say softly.
"Come in."
He exhales through his nose in a shaky rush and follows me inside.
Not close.
Not touching.
Just... there.
Safe.
Present.
I close the door behind us and we both stand silently in the soft quiet of my apartment.
My heart thuds.
His breath is slow, controlled, careful.
We face each other.
It feels like the whole world is holding its breath.
Finally, I whisper:
"I'm not over it."
He nods.
"I know."
"But I'm not mad at you anymore."
He looks away, jaw tight—
like the relief hits him so hard he doesn't trust his voice.
I take one step closer.
He doesn't move.
I take another.
His breath shudders.
"Leo," I say quietly.
His eyes lift to mine, slow and soft and aching.
And I whisper the words that break him completely:
"I forgive you."
Leo closes his eyes.
Just once.
Slow.
Like the words hit him deeper than they should.
Like he didn't think he deserved them.
Like my forgiveness was oxygen and he'd been suffocating for days.
He opens his eyes again.
And the look on his face—
Soft.
Raw.
Destroyed.
Relieved.
In awe.
—makes my knees weak.
"Thank you," he whispers.
And in that moment...
standing in my living room...
both of us bruised but breathing...
I feel something shift back into place.
Not everything.
Not all at once.
But enough.
Enough to try again.