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Yalda’s shoes echoed sharply across the marble, each step louder than the last. Her stride was purposeful, her spine straight, and though her heart pounded in her chest like a frantic drum, her resolve held steady. There was no more room for hesitation, no more space to swallow what burned inside her. The time for silence had ended.
Her breath was tight, shallow. She could feel every rise and fall of her chest like it was being pulled by invisible strings. Her fingers curled into her palms as she turned the corner.
“Alexander,” she called out, her voice cracking despite how quietly she spoke. The hallway swallowed her whisper and returned it louder, echoing off the walls like a plea.
He heard.
He stopped mid-stride, his back rigid, head turning slowly over one shoulder. His gaze met hers; cool, unreadable, distant. The pause between them stretched thin, brittle.
Then he gave the barest nod. “Yalda.”
He said her name with no warmth, no recognition in his tone. Just syllables. Just a label.
Something inside her twisted.
“I need to talk to you,” she said, the words shaky and raw.
He glanced her over briefly, like she was a stranger he was trying to place. “You seem well.”
She blinked. The deflection hit her like a slap.
“That’s all you have to say to me?” Her voice wavered between disbelief and something darker, more jagged. A broken laugh bubbled out of her chest. “That’s it?”
He sighed, the sound annoyed, almost tired. “You shouldn’t be here. This isn’t the place for this conversation.”
She took a step forward, then another, until the gap between them began to dissolve. “And what place is, Alexander?” Her voice was rising, her pulse roaring in her ears. “You can’t even look at me without pretending I’m not real. Do I disgust you now? Is that it?”
His eyes flicked away like he couldn’t bear to hold hers. “I’m not doing this,” he muttered, already turning from her. “Excuse me.”
“Don’t you walk away from me,” she snapped, louder this time, her voice slicing through the corridor like a whip.
He stopped.
His shoulders stiffened.
She took another step forward, voice trembling but fierce. “You don’t get to pretend like none of it mattered. I loved you. I still...God, I still can’t breathe without thinking of you. And you stood there, ten feet away, with another woman like I never existed. Like I was... So replaceable.”
He turned around again, slower this time. His expression hadn’t cracked, but there was something in his eyes now. Something colder. Or maybe just deeply buried.
“You’re causing a scene,” he said under his breath, his words sharp and unforgiving.
“Then let them watch,” she bit out, tears brimming in her eyes and spilling over. “I’ve already been humiliated for less.”
He moved toward her, slow and deliberate, each step sending a jolt through her chest.
“You don’t understand what you’re doing.”
“No,” she whispered. “You don’t understand what you’ve done to me.”
They were close now. Too close.
Her scent wrapped around him, salt, citrus, a hint of something soft and warm beneath it all. She was trembling, but she didn’t flinch when he stopped in front of her.
“You left me like I was nothing,” she said quietly, her voice cracking open with the weight of months of grief. “You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t write. I spent weeks crying, unable to think straight or pull myself together, wondering if I was the fool. And I was, wasn’t I? A fool.”
He clenched his jaw. Silence filled the narrow space between them.
“I thought I mattered,” she added, breath hitching. “Just a little. Enough to earn a decent goodbye.”
“I asked you to excuse me,” he repeated, his voice lower, more measured this time.
“I hate you,” she whispered suddenly, the confession dragging itself from her like a wound torn open. “I hate how I still want your eyes on me. I hate how I ache when you’re near. I hate how if you so much as reached for my hand, I’d fall all over again.”
His name caught in her throat like a splinter.
"Go back to your friend, Yalda." He said, attempting to turn away once more.
"Fuck you!" She snapped.
And then something shifted. He moved without warning.
In one fluid step, he grabbed her waist and backed her against the cold marble wall. The air escaped her lungs in a stunned gasp. One of his hands pressed firmly against the wall beside her head, the other gripped her hip with heat and force. The marble was cold, but his body radiated fire.
She stared up at him, wide-eyed, trembling, but not from fear. Her pulse jumped wildly in her neck.
His body was so close she could feel every inch of him. Every breath he took ghosted across her cheek. The air between them thickened, heavy with things unsaid and unforgiven.
Yalda cursed herself for the way her body responded. Her skin tingled under his touch, the ache in her chest turning molten and shameful.
“I told you,” he said in a voice so low it was barely more than a growl, “this isn’t the place.”
Her breath caught.
“Then tell me where,” she whispered, she was crying now. “Tell me where the place is. Where I can scream, cry, tear into you, and fall apart. Because I will. I swear I will.”
He stared at her, eyes dark and unreadable. He looked at her like she was dangerous. Or maybe he was afraid of what he’d do next.
“I’m not doing this with you,” he muttered.
“Why?” she breathed, her lips so close to his now they were brushing the air between them. “Because you've found yourself another whore. Another coping mechanism?"
He didn’t speak.
She lifted her hand and placed it flat against his chest. His heart was thudding beneath her palm, steady and strong, a traitor’s rhythm. Her fingers curled slightly, gripping the fabric of his shirt. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to push him away or drag him in.
His chest rose beneath her touch. He leaned closer, just a little, just enough.
“Tell me the truth,” she whispered. “Tell me you feel nothing and I’ll walk away.”
He didn’t answer.
Seconds passed. His hand flexed against her hip. The silence was deafening.
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