Tell me how to love you

Mark's apartment had never felt as quiet as it did now. Each second stretched long, like a thick, sticky fog that made it hard for him to breathe. He stood still in the doorway, hand frozen on the doorknob, his mind too tangled with his own fears to make a move. His heart pounded, but not in the way it should have, not with excitement or hope. It was the kind of pounding that came from pure dread. He couldn't push it away, couldn't ignore it--she was still out there.

His ears strained to catch the faintest sound--anything that might signal her leaving. He was waiting, hoping that she would give up, that Emma would walk away, and he could go back to the lonely silence of his apartment, the solitude he knew so well. But still, nothing happened. Time seemed to have stopped.

But then--a sound.

It was the softest shuffle, so gentle at first that it could've been mistaken for a trick of the mind. But no, there it was again--clearer this time. The faintest echo of footsteps.

Mark's breath hitched. His body stiffened. 'Did She left?.'

For a moment, he didn't know what to do. Should he open the door, or stay hidden, as he always did? The idea of facing her terrified him, but the alternative--her walking away--was something he wasn't sure he could bear either.

He told himself to wait. If he stood still long enough, if he waited just a little longer, maybe she would go. Maybe she would leave, as everyone always did.

And yet, the footsteps--those soft, tentative steps--grew quieter, fading as though she was moving away.

Relief flooded him, too quickly, too strongly. A cold, bitter relief. She's gone. The thought settled deep within him, leaving a hollow space in his chest. It felt familiar, even comforting. It was safer this way--wasn't it?

But then, in the next breath, it happened.

A soft scrape.

Mark's heart lurched violently in his chest. It was almost imperceptible--just a faint, delicate noise that barely broke the silence. But it was enough. Enough to make him freeze, to stop his breathing and leave his feet rooted to the floor. Something--someone--was still there.

A chill swept down his spine as the realization hit him. She hadn't left. She was waiting. She was still standing on the other side of the door.

His hand trembled slightly on the doorknob. For a moment, he thought about retreating--sliding away, hiding again. But the dread was too strong. The fear of her leaving him behind was somehow greater than the fear of facing her.

The scrape came again. And this time, it was louder. It was more deliberate.

Without even thinking, Mark's hand twisted the doorknob. Slowly. Reluctantly. It turned, but only a fraction. The door creaked, a soft, drawn-out sound that seemed too loud for the tension in the room. And then, the door shifted. Not fully--just a crack--but it was enough for Mark to peer out, his breath caught in his throat, his pulse thudding.

Empty.

The hallway was bathed in the sterile light of the apartment complex, and the floor stretched out before him, completely devoid of anyone. His gaze flicked to the hallway in disbelief. There was no one there.

For a brief moment, his mind played tricks on him. Had he imagined the footsteps? Had he imagined the desperate sense of urgency that had swept over him? Had Emma really been there, or was it all just a creation of his own panic?

But as he stood there, still gazing down the hallway, trying to convince himself that it was over, something moved.

From behind the door, a slender hand appeared, just a sliver at first, slipping out of the darkness. It was a delicate, almost surreal movement, like the touch of a shadow, but it was unmistakable--Emma.

She pressed against the door, pushing it open with ease. Mark flinched, his breath catching as the door widened, and there she was. Emma, standing right in front of him, her presence filling the space between them. She didn't wait for him to say anything. She didn't give him time to explain. Her gaze was locked onto his, unwavering, intense, but also full of something Mark hadn't expected: determination.

He stepped back, almost instinctively, his heart racing in his chest. He wanted to move. To speak. But the words were trapped in his throat, heavy and suffocating.

Emma didn't speak immediately. She just stood there, her eyes never leaving his, as if she were trying to pierce through him, trying to see beyond his defenses. She was studying him, trying to understand what had driven him to push her away so completely, to close the door on her so abruptly. And for a long moment, Mark felt exposed in a way he never had before. Like she could see right through the mask he wore.

"Mark," she said, her voice quiet but firm, "it's too easy to make you a fool."

The words landed between them like a weight, hard and sharp. It wasn't anger that she was voicing. No, it was something more complicated. Frustration? Disappointment? Maybe even something softer, but more painful--the kind of hurt that comes from caring too much, from opening yourself up and having the door slammed in your face.

Mark's mind scrambled for something to say, some kind of justification, but none came. He couldn't speak. He didn't know how to answer her. His entire world was crumbling, each word she spoke chipping away at the fragile shell he had carefully constructed around himself.

"Why didn't you text me back?" she continued, her voice now holding a touch of vulnerability, the frustration giving way to something quieter, something that struck even harder at Mark's heart. "I'm your girlfriend now, Mark. You know that, right?"

The words hit him like a tidal wave. His heart skipped a beat, the reality of them flooding his chest with a rush of warmth and terror. Girlfriend. The word was foreign on his tongue, a simple phrase that held so much meaning. It was something he had wanted, but hadn't been brave enough to admit. Now, here it was, hanging in the air, thick with the weight of all the things Mark feared.

He was frozen. He couldn't move. How did she know? How did she understand, even more than he did, what was at stake here? He hadn't been able to let anyone close--hadn't wanted to. But Emma had slipped past his walls, and now, with just those few simple words, she had made it clear: she wasn't going anywhere.

The silence between them stretched out, thick and suffocating. Emma didn't break it. She stood there, her eyes fixed on him, as though she were waiting for him to come to some kind of realization, to finally make a decision. She wasn't angry. She was waiting. But waiting for what?

'wait, did the text not reach her?'

Mark opened his mouth, but no words came out. His thoughts were so clouded, so tangled in self-doubt, that he couldn't begin to explain what was going on inside him. I'm afraid, he wanted to tell her. I'm scared of what this means. I'm scared of how much I need you. But the words were stuck, buried deep under layers of guilt and shame.

He just stood there, eyes locked with hers, caught in the pull of her unwavering gaze.

And Emma, waiting for him to finally speak, just let the silence continue, the space between them thick with tension, and maybe--just maybe--a sliver of hope.

***

A/N: she is too good to be real.

save this book .

vote for this book

share many of your thoughts throgh comments.