The morning light crept in through the sheer curtains, washing the room in pale gold. Tasha stirred on the couch, slowly opening her swollen eyes. Her head throbbed faintly from all the crying. Her body felt heavy, like she'd spent the night swimming through grief.
She sat up slowly, the blanket Ryan had draped over her slipping to the floor. Her throat was dry. Her heart, hollow.
Everything from last night came rushing back like a punch to the gut.
Adam's mother.
Her hateful words.
The look in Adam's eyes when she ran.
Tasha pressed a hand to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut.
"Morning," came a soft voice.
She looked up. Ryan stood in the doorway, a cup of coffee in each hand. His eyes were gentle but tired—he hadn't slept much either. He walked over, handed her the cup, and sat beside her.
"Thanks," she whispered.
They sat in silence for a while. Ryan didn't push, didn't ask anything. Just quietly sipped his coffee beside her, letting her exist in the space without judgment.
After a long moment, she finally spoke.
"Do you think he tried to call?"
Ryan nodded slightly. "He did. A few times."
Tasha swallowed hard. "Did he say anything?"
Ryan hesitated. "Just that he's sorry. That he's looking for you. That he needs to talk."
She looked down at the rim of her coffee cup, her fingers tightening around it. Her reflection wobbled on the surface of the drink.
"I don't know if I can face him," she whispered. "Not after everything that happened. Not after she looked me in the eye and tore me apart like I was… nothing."
Ryan set his mug down and turned toward her, his expression full of concern. "You don't have to decide anything right now. You're still hurting. You're allowed to sit with that."
Tasha nodded slowly. "But I miss him, Ryan. I miss him. And that's what hurts the most."
Her voice cracked again.
Ryan looked at her with so much compassion it almost broke her.
"You can love someone and still walk away if they come with too much pain," he said gently. "But you don't have to make that decision today. Just… let your heart breathe."
A soft ping interrupted the moment.
Tasha glanced at her phone.
13 missed calls. 5 unread messages. All from Adam.
Her fingers hovered over the screen.
She didn't open them.
Not yet.
She wasn't ready to read apologies. Not until she could face the image of herself standing in that doorway—shaking, shattered, humiliated.
So instead, she locked the screen and set the phone aside.
And Ryan—quiet, steady, patient—just stayed by her side, exactly where she needed him.
Adam hadn't slept.
The night had passed in a blur of pacing, panicked thoughts, and a burning ache in his chest. His phone was a lifeless weight in his hand, his calls unanswered, his messages unread.
Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was her—Tasha's face pale and devastated, tears gathering in her lashes, the way her mouth trembled just before she turned away and ran.
He couldn't stay still. Couldn't breathe in that house filled with silence and judgment.
So by sunrise, he was in his car, the engine rumbling beneath him, heart pounding like a war drum. He didn't have a plan—just a name that burned in his thoughts.
Ryan.
If Tasha had run, she would've gone to the one person she trusted beyond reason.
Adam gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw clenched. His mind ran wild with fear. What if she never wanted to see him again? What if she thought he agreed with his mother? What if she believed even for a second that he didn't love her?
He parked his car outside Ryan's building, nerves twisting in his stomach. The cool morning air slapped his face as he stepped out and rang the bell.
Moments passed. Then the door opened.
Ryan stood there, arms crossed, eyes bloodshot but alert. His expression was unreadable—harder than Adam remembered.
Adam swallowed. "Is she here?"
Ryan didn't answer immediately. His jaw flexed, a muscle twitching near his temple.
"I need to talk to her," Adam said, voice cracking.
"Now you do," Ryan replied coldly.
Adam blinked. "Ryan, please. I know you're pissed. I'm pissed too. But I need to see her."
Ryan stepped out, shutting the door behind him without inviting Adam in.
"She cried herself to sleep last night," he said bluntly. "She broke down in my arms, Adam. I've never seen her like that."
Adam lowered his gaze. His hands were trembling now. "I know… I know. I messed up."
Ryan's tone softened slightly—but only slightly. "No, your mom messed up. But you let her walk away. Alone."
"I didn't know what to do," Adam said, voice full of raw frustration. "I was in shock. I didn't think she'd just… run like that."
"She didn't run," Ryan snapped. "She escaped. From a woman who made her feel worthless."
Adam flinched, and his eyes glassed over. "I swear to God, Ryan, I don't care what my mom thinks. I love her. I wanted her to meet my family because I thought… I thought they'd see what I see."
"She's not ready to see you," Ryan said. "Not yet."
Adam nodded slowly, his heart sinking. "Can you at least tell her I came?"
Ryan studied him for a long moment. Then his expression shifted slightly—less harsh, more conflicted.
"I'll tell her," he said finally. "But if you want any chance of fixing this, you better mean every word. No more confusion. No more silence. She's already had enough of that in her life."
Adam nodded, eyes brimming with emotion. "I do. I swear. I just… I love her, man. I love her so much it hurts."
Ryan gave a short nod, then turned back to the door.
"She needs time," he said over his shoulder. "But if she decides to talk to you… don't waste it."
And with that, the door closed.
Adam stood there for a moment, alone on the quiet street, hope and fear fighting in his chest. He looked up at the window, half-hoping to catch a glimpse of her shadow.
There was none.
But he didn't leave right away.
He stood there, like a man waiting outside a locked door, praying it would open again—when she was ready.
________
The smell of coffee still lingered faintly in the air when Ryan stepped back inside.
Tasha looked up from where she sat on the edge of the couch, her fingers absentmindedly pulling at the thread on the cushion. She saw something in Ryan's expression that made her chest tighten before he even spoke.
She swallowed. "Was it him?"
Ryan hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah."
Tasha's breath caught in her throat. She looked down at her lap, unable to speak for a second. "What did he say?"
Ryan walked over and sat beside her, resting his arms on his knees. "That he's sorry. That he needs to see you. That he didn't mean for it to go the way it did."
Tasha bit her bottom lip. "Did he look… angry?"
"No," Ryan said softly. "He looked destroyed."
A tremble ran through her.
She could still see the way Adam's eyes had widened in shock when she turned away from his mother—still hear the silence in the room as she fled. It haunted her, like a loop playing over and over.
But then came the echo of those words, spat at her like venom:
"Classless. Undignified. Girls like you don't belong in our world."
Tasha's stomach turned.
Her throat burned. "I don't think I can look at him, Ryan," she said quietly. "Not yet."
"I told him that," Ryan replied, gently. "Told him you needed time. But Tash… he didn't come here to fix his image. He came because he loves you. It was written all over his face."
She looked away, her jaw clenched.
Love.
That word again.
It used to feel warm.
Now, it felt like a question mark.
Her voice came out in a whisper. "Then why didn't he come after me? When I walked out that door? If he loves me so much… why did he let me go?"
Ryan was silent for a beat.
Then, carefully: "Because sometimes people freeze when the world shifts under their feet. Doesn't mean they don't care. Doesn't mean they won't fight like hell once they come to their senses."
Tasha blinked rapidly, her eyes misting again.
"I don't know what to do, Ryan," she admitted. "Part of me wants to run to him. And another part of me still feels like that girl standing in his house, stripped of all dignity."
Ryan reached out, gently placing a hand over hers.
"Then don't do anything yet," he said. "Not until both parts of you agree."
Tasha looked up at him, her eyes glassy, her face still pale but calmer now. There was something in her gaze—wounded, yes, but thinking. Still soft where she hadn't hardened completely.
She didn't say anything more. She just nodded.
For now, silence would be her answer.
But Adam had come.
And that meant the war between heart and pride had only just begun.
___________