All That Went Unsaid

Sophie Esinberg's POV

I learned I was going to Paris the same way I learned most life-altering information, over a phone call that began with someone else panicking. Historically, these calls had preceded events like discovering my landlord had sold the building and forgotten to give us notice, sleeping on the cold tile floor of an airport in Milan because my best friend misread P.M. as A.M., and being informed midway through my commute, while wearing a hoodie, that the "casual dinner" I was headed to was actually a black-tie fundraiser.

In fairness, context usually softened the blow.

Mr. Mekonnen was seventy-five and later diagnosed with Alzheimer's, so none of the tenants truly complained when he forgot to warn us before selling the building out from under our lives. Justin had always been enthusiastic and catastrophically bad at details, regardless of whether those details involved dinner plans or international flight times. And the last incident was simply the inevitable consequence of having two male best friends who treated logistics like an optional accessory.

They meant well. They just remembered important information at the very last possible second.

This time, it was Daniel.

Five minutes ago, he had called me, already breathless, and told me I needed to book flight tickets to Paris for tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

The word echoed in my head like a dare. As if I had a secret savings account labelled Emergency Paris Fund, just waiting for the right moment. As if spontaneous international travel was a lifestyle choice and not a financial threat.

I stared at my laptop, still closed, already exhausted by the idea of opening it. Somewhere between grant rejections and unpaid invoices, Paris felt less like a destination and more like a punchline.

And yet, my phone was still warm in my hand, Daniel's panic lingering in the air, and I knew from experience that once a call like this happened, resistance was mostly theoretical.

"It looks like I have to go to Paris", I told Justin as I opened my laptop and looked at the email sitting in my inbox where Daniel had replied on my behalf.

"You want to go to Paris, or you're being summoned by the French government?"

"I'm going for an event," I said biting the cuticles as I glanced at another email that was sent by the Ethiopian Government about an hour ago. Just another email sitting in my inbox, casually dropped into my morning like an unpinned grenade.

After reading it my heart sank so sharply it felt physical, like someone had driven a fist straight into my gut. I had stared at the screen, blinking again and again, as if the words might rearrange themselves out of mercy.

But they didn't.

"An event?" Justin's voice came through the phone and broke the stillness I had been clinging to.

I took a slow breath and told myself this was the only option left. That I had to go. That this event was my last chance to save what I had sacrificed sleep, certainty, and many years of my life to build. The more I repeated it, the clearer it became that the decision had not been made by me. It had simply been made for me.

"Yes," I said, my voice tight. "Danny confirmed my availability with the organizers without even asking me." I rubbed my temples, searching for some temporary relief. "Now I am supposed to catch the earliest flight to Paris and be there by tomorrow."

I exhaled, sharp and humourless. "How does one even do that?"

The pressure behind my eyes deepened as my thoughts ran too fast for my body to keep up. Every muscle felt tense, overstretched, as if my mind had already begun the journey and dragged the rest of me along with it.

"Okay, I have no context about anything you just said."

"I have to pack for a week and book my flight tickets. I cannot leave the lab to run on its own like this. You know how bad the situation is. I told Danny about it, and of course he went ahead and did whatever he thought was best." I kept ranting, the words spilling out of me unchecked, like a tap left open.

"And what is that?" Justin asked.

"What?" I said, caught off guard.

"What did Danny think was best?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, the answer suddenly heavier than the panic that had carried me this far. Because deep down I knew what Danny did was the tactical right thing to do. That his intentions were only trying to keep the sinking ship afloat.

"Oh. Remember the award nomination I mentioned a few months ago?"

"You mean Le Prix d'Excellence?" Justin asked.

"Yes. That one." I paced the length of the room, phone pressed to my ear. "Danny not only accepted the nomination, he also RSVP'd on my behalf. Now I have to show up at some absurdly fancy award ceremony with absolutely no preparation."

I stopped and stared at my reflection in the dark window. "I have not shaved my legs in a month. Do not even get me started on my eyebrows. I look like a camel."

"Okay," Justin said carefully, "don't panic."

"Do not tell me not to panic," I snapped, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "That only makes me panic more."

The urge to shout climbed up my throat, sharp and insistent, and I swallowed it back, gripping the phone like it might keep me grounded.

"You're right. Sophie, listen to me." Justin's voice shifted, steadier now, like he had finally found solid ground. "You are going to Le Prix. Do you even understand what that means? Half of Hollywood will be there. Probably world-famous athletes too. People whose faces you have seen on billboards and magazine covers while buying groceries."

I sank onto the edge of the bed, phone pressed to my ear, staring at the floor.

"I know Danny made the decision without asking you," he continued, "and no, that part was not okay. But look at the bright side. You are walking into a room filled with businessmen and philanthropists. People who have more money than they know what to do with and no idea where to put it."

I closed my eyes.

"That is exactly what you need right now," he said. "Not another grant rejection. Not another polite email. You need to be seen."

"Yeah," I said softly. "You're right."

"I know I am," he replied, and I could hear the smug smile settling into his voice.

"That still does not mean what Danny did was right," I added, the words heavier now that the panic had begun to thin.

"No," Justin agreed. Then, without hesitation, "You know what? I am coming too. Send me the details."

I frowned. "You are?"

"Yes. You and Danny clearly need supervision." He sounded maddeningly calm, like global chaos was a minor inconvenience he had already scheduled around. "Someone has to play referee and make sure neither of you commits a felony before dessert."

Despite myself, a breath of laughter slipped out.

Sometimes I wondered if Justin had ever experienced anxiety as an emotion. Or if the world simply bounced off him while the rest of us absorbed every impact.

The call ended, but the quiet that followed felt louder than the panic had.

I sat there for a long moment, phone resting uselessly in my palm, and let the truth settle. For the past three years, the Ethiopian government and a patchwork of research grants had kept my lab alive. Not thriving. Just breathing. Enough funding to pay stipends, replace broken equipment, keep the lights on and the filters running. Enough to believe that if I worked harder, if I refined the models and improved the data, the doors would stay open.

They had not.

I thought of the first grant approval, the email I had opened on a cracked laptop while sitting on the lab floor because we did not have chairs yet. I remembered the way my hands had shaken as I read the words approved for funding, how I had laughed out loud in an empty room that smelled of disinfectant and ambition. That money had bought us our first prototype, a temperamental system that leaked half the time but worked well enough to give people clean water. I had believed then that momentum was permanent.

Another memory followed. A later year. Another proposal. I saw myself standing in front of a review committee, sleeves rolled up, explaining maintenance cycles and community training like my life depended on it. Because it did. They had nodded, asked difficult questions, approved the funds with careful smiles. I had walked out into the sun feeling lighter, convinced that persistence was a strategy.

Now persistence felt naïve.

The lab had grown since then. New faces. Younger researchers who looked at me like I knew what I was doing. Whiteboards filled with equations. Filters stacked neatly along the walls. I had promised them stability with the confidence of someone who believed effort always paid off.

But lately, every email had begun the same way. We regret to inform you.

It felt like the walls were closing in, one polite rejection at a time. Like every familiar door had quietly locked while I was too busy working to notice.

I pressed my palms to my eyes and exhaled slowly.

Paris was not part of the plan. An award ceremony was not a solution. But maybe it was not a coincidence either. Maybe it was the last open room when all the others had gone dark.

The thought settled uncomfortably in my chest.

I stood, already moving toward my suitcase, knowing that for the first time in years, survival might depend less on research and more on being seen.

***

Dear Ms. Esinberg,

We regret to inform you that your application for financial assistance under the Filter Fresh Aqua Life Project, requesting funding of ETB 55,000,000, has not been approved.

We acknowledge and appreciate the ambition and humanitarian intent of your proposal. The Ministry recognizes the importance of improving access to clean and filtered water for local communities, and we commend the noble objectives outlined in your application.

However, after careful evaluation, the review committee concluded that the project, in its current form, would require further innovation and long-term maintenance planning to be sustainably scaled to meet the needs of the intended regions. As such, the proposal does not presently meet the funding criteria required for implementation. Therefore, further funding for this project has been declined for the next fiscal year.

We encourage you to continue refining the project and welcome future submissions should additional advancements be made.

Thank you for your interest in partnering with the Ministry of Water Resources.

Sincerely,

Grant Review Committee

Ministry of Water Resources

"Welcome to Les Prix d'Excellence Jeunesse, Mr. Reynolds," a girl about my age purred, her voice laced with a fake sweetness of a tired concierge.

I accepted the card with my room number painted in golden italics, managing only a tight-lipped smile before nodding curtly and turning away.

Life, as I've come to learn, is a capricious journey. Never did I imagine standing here today, as captain of the U.S. football team, representing my country on the grandest stages. It was a dream I scarcely dared to embrace, made possible by one person.

I couldn't disrespect what she'd taught me or the changes she'd wrought in me. It was her influence that guided me, her teachings echoing in my decisions. So, I followed my heart and pursued my passion.

Navigating the hotel lobby, I headed for the elevator, glancing at my keycard before pressing the button for the twenty-second floor. I retreated into my thoughts, seeking respite from the clamour of fame and expectation.

As the elevator slowed to a stop, I walked through the deserted lobby toward the hotel penthouse. Inside, my belongings lay neatly arranged, a testament to the efficiency of the hotel staff. Exhaustion weighed heavily on me; I'd arrived from Munich just an hour ago for the International Football Association meeting, before jetting here.

Changing into more comfortable attire, I collapsed onto the bed. The television flickered to life, a news channel covering the event that brought me here.

The reporter stood outside the hotel amidst a throng of fans, banners waving fervently. The "Les Prix d'Excellence Jeunesse" was touted as the year's most anticipated event, celebrating nominees under forty excelling in their respective fields.

"Celebrities, sportspersons, artists, scientists, and entrepreneurs have descended upon the prestigious event of the year, 'Les Prix d'Excellence Jeunesse'. This eagerly anticipated gathering celebrates individuals under forty who have demonstrated excellence in their respective fields. The atmosphere outside the venue buzzes with fervour as fans congregate, eagerly showing their support."

The reporter shifts her attention to a jubilant girl holding a "We Love You William" banner. "It's clear you're rooting for William," she says, turning towards the camera with enthusiasm. "And we're talking about none other than William Gatterman, captain of the Australian Cricket Team."

The girl leapt with excitement, shouting, "He's going to win!"

Amidst the fanfare, the reporter notes the escalating excitement among the crowd, prompting the hotel to bolster security measures due to the surging number of attendees.

"Among the early arrivals are notable nominees such as William Gatterman, captain of the Australian Cricket Team, and our own charismatic Raymond Reynolds, captain of the U.S. football team."

"In the business category," the reporter continues, "we have Yel-en Dang, CEO of Aurora from China, Enighbam Longhach, CEO of Vostro series from Germany, and Levin Lockhard, CFO of Borealis from Finland."

"In the science category," she adds, "we have the promising and youthful-"

With a sigh, I turned my attention to the plush bathroom, its marble surfaces gleaming under soft and ambient lighting. Stepping into the spacious shower, steam began to rise, enveloping me in warmth and momentarily soothing my restless mind. The week's schedule promised a Mixer Party at eight tonight, which would give me some time to explore.

Dressed in a maroon V-neck t-shirt and dark jeans, I laced up my sneakers and stepped out of my room. After exploring some parts of the Hotel, I stumbled upon a library and started walking towards it. Although I have not been particularly fond of books, I did read them when I find myself on the verge of boredom.

Among the shelves, my footsteps faltered as I as I took in the appearance of the person standing in front of me.

In a simple black dress that tantalizingly grazed above her knees, her dark-brown hair cascaded in a neat ponytail. Red lipstick accentuated her lips, making them all the more enticing.

I clenched my fists struggling to maintain composure, battling the overwhelming urge to reach out and feel the silkiness of her skin. Did she still taste the same? Like strawberries and summer evenings. I wanted to touch her again, to feel the warmth of her skin against mine. To lose myself in her. Again.

My heart skipped a beat as beads of sweat formed on my brow and I struggled to steady my breath. She remained engrossed in her reading, oblivious to my presence, while I stood captivated and transported back seven years in an instant.

In that moment, it felt as though only she and I existed in the room. My senses tingled in a moment fraught with unspoken history; after seven years, she still held the same inexplicable power over me.

Looking back, I realised that life was a heap of moments. Some were happy, filled with laughter and warmth. Others were full of sorrow, tainted by loss and regret. But most were empty, lost in the blur of daily routine.

Distracted by the relentless pursuit of my goals, and the pressure to fit in. I stopped living in the present. Mind always busy with to-do lists and what-ifs. Only worries consumed my thoughts. And amidst all that, I forgot to savour the now, the fleeting seconds that could never be reclaimed.

When I close my eyes and drift back to that time in high school, I think about her. When I had her by my side, her presence turned the mundane into something special, making even the emptiest moments worthwhile. Her laughter was my lifeline, sweeping away the worries of life. In those moments, all I wanted was to keep that smile on her face forever, mostly because it made me feel like I belonged. I did not merely exist in the world but belonged.

That I belong to her.

I didn't realize what I had, what she meant to me, until she was gone and it was too late. Then, in the quiet moments of reflection, I always reminded myself of all that I had missed. It was the smallest of moments, the ones that seemed insignificant to most, but to me, they were everything.

I missed our late-night talks, the kind that stretched into the early hours, where every word felt like a caress. I missed our study dates, the comfort of her presence beside me, the way her hand would brush against mine, igniting sparks that lit up my soul. I missed walking down the hallway, our fingers entwined, the world fading away, leaving just us. I missed the heat of her body next to mine, the rhythm of our hearts beating in unison. I missed her teaching me, her voice gentle and patient, her laughter filling the silence of the library. I missed her sarcastic comebacks, the sharp edge of her wit that always caught me off guard. I missed everything we did, every stolen moment, every shared dream.

I missed the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about her dreams, a light that had the power to brighten even my darkest days. And most of all, I missed the taste of her lips on mine, a kiss that had the power to transport me to a place where time stood still and we were the only thing that mattered.

When I was with her, I was me. I didn't care about my bad-boy reputation. I didn't care about disobeying my father. I didn't give two shits about anything in the world. I had no worries.

And now, here she was. In front of me, and I couldn't even move. It felt like I was glued to the ground. I wanted to talk to her, apologize for all that went down between us. But most of all I wanted to feel the comfort of her arms around me.

She probably wouldn't want that from me.

I was trying to summon the courage to go talk to her. Just say hi, maybe. Isn't that what ex-lovers do, after all? Exchange a few pleasantries and move on with life. I knew deep down that no matter how much I might still wanted her, she didn't feel the same.

After taking a deep breath, I finally made up my mind and forced my legs to move. As the distance between us closed, my heartbeat raced. With every step, I had to take a deep breath to steady myself. My steps halted as I stood two feet from her. She soon realized my presence and looked up. Her light brown eyes gazed at me.

One glance, and those beautiful brown eyes knocked the air from my lungs. My heart started doing some crazy dance, and a lump formed in my throat. Her eyes widened with realization, and pure shock painted her face.

" Hey," those words slipped from my lips as her gaze locked onto mine.

"Hi," she replied, her eyes holding me captive.

"How are-" My words were abruptly interrupted by someone else.

"There you are!" We both turned to the sound of the voice.

"Hey, sweetheart," a guy walked towards us and then his arms encircled Sophie's waist, his lips pressing gently against her temple.

"Uh, hey, Justin," she responded, her eyes darting everywhere but towards me. An uneasy tension settled between us.

I clenched my jaw.

Of course she had moved on. It had been seven fucking years.

"Uh-maybe we should catch up sometime. See you around? " I managed to ask.

"I hope not," she said with a tight-lipped smile. Her words cut through me as she turned away, the other guy's arm still around her waist, and they left the library together.

I stood there unable to process the flood of emotions crashing over me as I watched her disappear into the bustling lobby.

I swallowed hard, trying to suppress the lump in my throat. I had known I would see him eventually, but I thought I could face it. I had planned to avoid him, hoping to keep my distance until the end of the event.

Fate, it seemed, had other plans.

Justin snapped his fingers in front of my eyes, jolting me back to reality.

"What do you want to drink?" he asked gently, sensing my distraction as I glanced around the dimly lit bar.

Justin had been a reliable friend since I first moved to California. We became close when we discovered we lived across the hall and attended the same university, though our fields of study couldn't have been more different, his was Business Management, while mine was Engineering.

Since then, he had always been there for me. A month into university Daniel started visiting whenever possible, the three of us were like an inseparable trio, spending weekends together and occasionally extending our hangouts into Mondays when Daniel could skip a few lectures at the university to join us.

There were numerous occasions in our first year of university when Justin, being the gentleman he is, had to swoop in and rescue me from guys trying to flirt despite my obvious disinterest.

We called it the "rescue ruse," where he would wrap his arm around my waist and give a light kiss on my temple, and then I would leave with him. He hasn't done the rescue ruse since our second year of university. I've been able to handle those situations on my own since then. It turns out, all I had to do was speak thoughts.

Justin doesn't really know about Raymond. All he knows is that I dated someone in senior year who broke my heart. But that's only half the truth. Raymond did break my heart, but what we had, it wasn't all a lie.

Keep being delusional, you fool.

Daniel always cautioned me about the deceptive nature of people wearing masks. He'd say, "You never really know who's lurking behind a friendly smile." His words echoed in my mind, a reminder of the countless times I'd been fooled by appearances. By him.

"Nothing, thanks. I think I'll just go to my room and get some sleep. I'm tired," I replied, attempting to sound casual.

Justin's gaze bore into mine, studying my expression.

"What?" I asked, struggling to conceal the flood of emotions welling in my eyes.

"Are you okay?" Justin's concern was palpable as he studied my expression.

"Yeah," I murmured, more to convince myself than him.

"Alright. I'll catch you later, then," he replied, his brow furrowing with worry. The way he looked at me, I knew he sensed something was amiss.

"Okay, bye," I managed, heading towards the bar's exit.

Justin persisted, asking if I knew the guy from the library or if he was bothering me. I just shrugged, not wanting to delve into it further, and he let it drop.

The next morning, I woke up with the realization that I now lived in the same hotel as that heartbreaker, Raymond Reynolds. Just the thought was enough to set my mind spinning, memories of pain and weakness flooding back.

To distract myself from those haunting thoughts, I decided to head to the gym. Running for half an hour always helped clear my mind, even though I'd never been particularly athletic. It had become my solace seven years ago.

I had changed my whole fucking personality seven years ago.

In those early months, I barely left my room. Thankfully, my sister was away visiting our grandparents, and my mom took on extra work to save for my college expenses.

Then, unexpectedly, I received a scholarship I hadn't even applied for. Someone must have submitted my research work to them. I suspected Noah, since he was the only one who knew how to navigate the bureaucracy at Amanda Corp's head office.

***

I heard the doorbell downstairs but ignored it, not wanting to face anyone. Turning away, I settled into a comfortable position, hoping for more sleep.

A sudden thud beside me jolted my eyes open. There stood Daniel, a shoebox thrown onto my side table. His eyes bore a mix of anger, concern, and something I couldn't gauge.

Before I could gather my thoughts to ask, he tossed clothes at me. "Get up, you have five minutes to make yourself presentable," he said curtly, leaving my room abruptly.

Confused but compliant, I took a quick shower to ease my stiff back, then reluctantly donned the yoga pants and t-shirt he'd chosen. I'd never been one for sports, but when Daniel set his mind to something, resistance seemed futile.

Downstairs, Daniel waited in the kitchen with a smoothie. "Drink this, you'll need it," he said, avoiding my gaze as he handed me the drink. I downed it in one gulp.

"Let's go!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands and heading for the door.

"Where?" I asked, trailing after him like a lost puppy. He simply grabbed the keys and held the door open for me. To the park," he answered casually. I continued walking towards his car, but he reached for my hand and guided me onto the path.

"We run!" he exclaimed, taking off with surprising energy. Utterly bewildered, I started to chase after him.

I panted heavily, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I struggled to keep pace with Daniel. Sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes, while my legs screamed with each pounding step. The scent of fresh air mingled with the sharp tang of cut grass and the earthy aroma of pine enveloped me, grounding me in the intensity of the run.

As we pushed forward, my body protested, muscles aching and lungs burning, yet I was determined to keep going. Each stride felt like a battle against exhaustion, but I focused on the rhythmic thud of my feet hitting the pavement, the sound echoing in sync with the racing of my heart.

"Deep breaths Soaf, that's the key. Focus on your breaths." Daniel encouraged, his voice cutting through my laboured breaths. We paused briefly, the world around us still and quiet except for the soft rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze.

Returning home, Daniel handed me the key with a knowing smile. "Until tomorrow," he said, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. Later that morning, alone in my room I thought about the run. After the rush of adrenaline subsided, I felt exhilarated yet strangely calm. My heart, which had pounded fiercely during the run, now settled into a steady rhythm. A warm, tingling sensation spread through my limbs, a sign of the endorphins coursing through my veins. I took deep breaths, relishing the clarity of mind and the sense of accomplishment that washed over me. Despite the physical fatigue, I felt alive, rejuvenated by the surge of energy that had propelled me forward. As I stretched out my tired muscles, a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. The world seemed clearer, more vibrant somehow.

That's how my running routine began. A ritual of pushing past physical limits, each step a testament to my determination to move forward, leaving behind the memories of Raymond.

***

I walked into the gym expecting it to be empty, but I was greeted by the sight of a guy doing push-ups, shirtless. His muscles rippled with each flex, and as I squinted to get a better look, I realized it was Raymond himself. My eyes wandered shamelessly over his perfectly sculpted abs, momentarily short-circuiting my brain.

I had to get out of here. I took a step back to tiptoe out of the gym and my right foot collided with something hard, causing me to lose my balance and end up on the floor with a loud thud as my back hit the ground. A groan escaped my lips as I rubbed my throbbing head, only to discover I'd collided with a wooden block on the floor.

"Well, that's one way to make an entrance," I muttered to myself, hoping he hadn't noticed my less-than-graceful gym debut.

I came back to my senses as someone crouched on the floor right next to me. Blinking, I focused on the masculine and very much shirtless silhouette. My heart surged with a mix of distress. I took in a deep breath, and his familiar scent enveloped me, stirring memories I thought I'd buried long ago.

"Oh God, prince-" he winced, the name he once called me hanging in the air, now a painful echo of our past. "Sophie, are you okay?" I lifted my gaze, drawn irresistibly to the deep blue pools that held mine captive. In those eyes, I saw a flicker of concern. His presence stirred a storm of emotions within me. Longing, regret, and a hint of unspoken words yearning to be voiced.

I flinched at the sight of his hand reaching out, hesitating involuntarily. His touch paused, registering my reaction, and I noticed his jaw tense, a subtle tic along his beautifully chiseled jaw.

"I'm just helping you sit, Soaf." he murmured, his voice tinged with a firmness that veiled a hint of sorrow. His hands were gentle as they guided me to sit, his touch stirring a whirlwind of memories. My focus shifted to the warmth of his fingers brushing against the nape of my neck, the flex of his arms as he steadied me. I put both my hands on the floor as I sat, holding on to the ground for support.

"My name is Sophie." I said firmly, my voice cutting through the tension.

My head throbbed, so I reached for the back of my head where I took the hit when I fell. I winced as I felt a little bump there.

"Do you feel like throwing up?" Raymond asked, his blue eyes boring into mine.

"What?" I replied, thrown off by the question.

"Just checking if you have a concussion." he said, as if this were the most normal thing to ask.

"I am not, thank you very much," I replied, flashing him a sarcastic smile while rolling my eyes.

"How many fingers do you see?" he asked, waving two fingers in front of my face like he was trying to swat a fly.

"Two. I am not having a concussion, Raymond," I replied, pushing myself up to stand. I wobbled but quickly caught my balance.

"So, you keep saying," he shrugged a shoulder, his skepticism as clear as day. His eyes followed me as I tested my footing, his concern mixed with a hint of amusement.

"What?" I snapped, annoyed at the amused smile he was clearly trying to fight.

"Nothing," he said, attempting to conceal his grin.

"Of course you find this funny," I said, my words coated with annoyance.

A smirk curved his lips, displaying the beautiful dimple on his right cheek. "Confusion," he stated simply, as if it were a fact.

"What?" I repeated, feeling my irritation rise.

"Confusion. That's a symptom of a concussion," he said, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"What -"

"And that's the third time you've said what. Memory loss. Another symptom."

"Oh, shut up," I huffed, crossing my arms to keep myself from wiping that annoyingly beautiful smirk off his face or, worse, from wrapping them around him just to feel the warmth of his body in my embrace.

"So, I've been told countless times by you," he replied, his full smile spreading across his lips. It was wide enough to make my heart skip a beat, sending a flutter through my chest.

Keep it together, Soaf.

"Yeah, whatever. I'm going to check on Justin. He's probably awake by now," I said, turning on my heel to leave the situation and the gym, needing to escape the intensity of the moment.

"Oh yeah, can't keep your pretty boyfriend waiting," I heard him sneer as I stepped out, the words stinging despite my best efforts to ignore them.

Justin isn't my boyfriend. But Raymond didn't need to know that, smirking I walked through the lobby.