CHAPTER 28: The Things We Didn't Say
Ava didn't let go of his hand.
Not even when the silence between them stretched so long, it felt like a third person in the room.
Not even when his fingers twitched, like he wasn't sure if he should pull away or hold tighter.
She didn't move.
Eli sat there, quiet as stone, his thumb brushing against hers absently. He didn't speak. But he didn't pull away either.
And that—God, that was everything.
The file was still open on the table, its contents spread out like scars on display. The composite sketch, the nurse's note, the missing pages… All of it just sat there. Waiting.
Like the truth had finally exhaled.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" His voice was quiet. Raw.
Ava blinked slowly, her voice almost a whisper. "Because I didn't know. Not until I read that file. And when I did—I wanted to run. But I knew I had to face it. Face you."
He didn't turn toward her. But his grip tightened just slightly.
"I've spent years building a life on what I thought I knew," he said. "But it turns out the truth was in the shadows all along."
Ava swallowed. "I think the truth was always between us, Eli. We just didn't have the words yet."
He laughed. Soft. Bitter. "Funny how silence says the loudest things."
Her hand slipped from his then, not because she wanted to let go, but because she needed him to see her. Not with eyes—but with the part of him that had always felt her.
She turned slightly, placing both his hands gently on her face.
He flinched, almost pulled back.
But she held them there. Steady.
"You don't have to see me to know who I am," she said. "You've always known. Even before I remembered. Even when I was just the girl who painted your music into color."
His brows drew together, a tremble in his jaw. "And now? Who are you now, Ava?"
She leaned into his touch, tears hot in her eyes. "I'm the girl who forgot you… and still loved you anyway."
Silence.
And then—he broke.
Not with words, but with the quiet sound of breath catching in his throat. He pulled her into him, her body curling against his as if it had always belonged there.
"I don't know how to forgive this," he whispered into her hair. "I don't know how to not hate what happened."
"You don't have to," she whispered back. "Just let me be here. Let me stay."
The night wrapped around them like a blanket, the room dim, the file forgotten on the table for now.
There were still pieces missing. Still memories too sharp to touch.
But in that moment, they weren't defined by the fire.
They were just two broken people trying to remember what love felt like before the world tore them apart.
And slowly… quietly… they began to piece each other back together.