The phone buzzes again. Sharp. Insistent. Maya's name lighting up the dark room beyond the doorway, the screen glowing against the nightstand like a beacon I can't look away from. Three missed calls. A text I can't read from here, just the preview—her name, a line of words too small to make out.
Liam's hand stills on my hip. His fingers press just a little harder, like he's anchoring himself, and I feel his eyes follow mine to the glowing screen. He doesn't move, doesn't speak, just stands there with his palm against my damp skin, waiting.
The towel is rough around my shoulders. We're wet still, both of us, steam curling off our skin, the bathroom light spilling past us into the bedroom. I can feel his chest against my back, the heat of him, the way his breath has gone shallow.
"It's her." My voice comes out quiet. Not a question, not an apology. Just the fact of it, sitting between us.
His jaw tightens. I can feel the shift in his body, the way his hand on my hip goes stiller, the tension threading through his fingers. "I know."
The phone goes dark. Then buzzes again. A fourth call.
I should let it ring. I should turn around, pull him back into the shower, back into the space where it was just his hands and his mouth and the water streaming over us. But I'm already moving, my feet carrying me out of the bathroom, the towel slipping loose around my shoulders, the carpet rough and cool under my bare soles.
Liam follows. I can hear him behind me, his footsteps on the carpet, the soft sound of him breathing. He stops at the foot of the bed, and I'm already reaching for the phone, my fingers closing around the warm glass, the screen bright against my palm.
Four missed calls. One text. I swipe it open before I can think about it.
*I need to hear your voice. Please. I'm sorry—just call me.*
I read it twice. The words blur and sharpen and blur again, and I feel Liam's eyes on me, the weight of his silence pressing against my back. The phone feels heavy in my hand, heavier than it should, and I realize I'm holding my breath.
"Sofia." His voice is low. Careful. Like he's afraid of breaking something. "What did she say?"
I turn the phone toward him. He steps closer, his eyes scanning the screen, and I watch his face—the way his brow furrows, the way his mouth presses into a thin line. He doesn't say anything for a long moment. Just looks at the words, then looks at me.
"You don't have to call her."
"I know."
"But you want to."
I don't answer. Because I don't know what the answer is. I don't know what I want—only that Maya's name on the screen feels like a thread pulling me backward, toward a version of myself I left behind on the other side of an ocean.
Liam's hand finds mine. His fingers slide between mine, warm and steady, and he doesn't take the phone away, doesn't try to close the screen. He just holds my hand, his thumb tracing a slow line across my knuckles.
"I'm not going to tell you not to call her." His voice is soft, rough at the edges. "But I need you to know—whatever you decide, I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere."
I look at him. At his pale blue eyes, his wet hair clinging to his forehead, the scar above his brow catching the lamplight. He looks raw. Open. Like he's laid himself bare in front of me and is waiting for me to decide if I'll stay or walk away.
I think about Maya. About her short black hair, her silver eyebrow ring, the way she laughed with her whole body. I think about the nights I spent curled around my phone, waiting for her texts, feeling the distance like a wound. I think about the breakup—her voice cracking over the line, telling me she couldn't watch me fade, couldn't watch me wait for a love that demanded I stay small.
I think about Liam. About the way he held me in the shower, the way his hands shook when he touched me, the way he said my name like it meant something. I think about the math classroom, the first time he smiled at me, the way my heart stumbled in my chest.
The phone buzzes again in my hand. A fifth call.
I press Answer before I can stop myself.
"Maya?"
Her voice comes through, tinny and familiar. "Sofia. Oh god, I didn't think you'd pick up." She sounds breathless, ragged, like she's been crying. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't be calling. I know I ended things, I know I have no right—"
"Maya." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "What's wrong?"
A pause. I can hear her breathing, the shaky inhale, the wet exhale. "I just—I needed to hear your voice. I know that's selfish. I know I don't get to do this. But I've been thinking about you, and I keep remembering the way you laughed, and I can't—I can't stop wondering if I made a mistake."
Liam's hand tightens around mine. I look at him—his face unreadable, his eyes fixed on the phone like he's watching something fragile and afraid to breathe. I squeeze his hand back, just once, and I feel the tension in his shoulders ease, just a little.
"You didn't make a mistake." My voice is quiet, but it's clear. "You were right. I was fading. I was waiting for you to save me, and that wasn't fair to either of us."
I pause. Liam's thumb is still tracing my knuckles, slow and steady, and I feel the truth of it settle in my chest, solid and warm.
"I'm not fading anymore." The words come out before I can think about them, and I realize they're true. "I'm here. I'm living. And I think—I think I'm starting to fall for someone."
Silence on the line. Then a soft, shaky exhale. "Is he good to you?"
I look at Liam—at his pale blue eyes, his messy wet hair, his hand wrapped around mine like he's afraid to let go. A smile tugs at my lips, small and real.
"Yeah. He's good to me."
Another pause. I can hear Maya breathing, the faint crackle of the line. Then her voice, softer now, almost gentle. "Good. That's—that's good, Sofia. I'm glad."
A beat. The silence stretches between us, filled with everything we haven't said, everything we've already let go of.
"I should go," I say, and my voice doesn't waver. "But thank you. For calling. For checking."
"Always." Her voice cracks on the word. "Take care of yourself, Sofia."
"You too, Maya."
I end the call. The screen goes dark in my hand, and I set the phone down on the nightstand, face-down, the glass cool against the wood.
Liam's arms wrap around me from behind. His chest presses against my back, his chin resting on my shoulder, and I feel his breath warm against my neck. He doesn't say anything. Just holds me, his arms tight around my waist, his heart beating steady against my spine.
I lean back into him, let him take my weight, let the silence settle around us like a blanket. The lamp casts a soft glow across the room, and I can see our shadows on the wall, blurred and tangled together.
"You told her." His voice is rough, his lips brushing my ear. "About me."
"Yeah." I turn in his arms, facing him, my palms flat against his chest. His skin is still damp, still warm, and I feel the steady thrum of his heart under my fingers. "I told her the truth."
His hands find my face, cupping my jaw, tilting my chin up. His eyes search mine, looking for something—a question, a doubt, a hesitation. But all he finds is me, and I see the exact moment he realizes it, the way his expression softens, the way his thumbs trace gentle lines across my cheekbones.
"I love you." The words fall out of him, raw and unguarded, and I feel them land somewhere deep in my chest, warm and electric. "I know it's fast. I know we haven't said it yet. But I need you to know. I love you, Sofia."
I feel the smile spread across my face before I can stop it, bright and real and full of everything I've been carrying for months. I rise on my toes, pressing my lips to his, soft and slow, tasting the salt of his skin, the warmth of his mouth.
"I love you too," I whisper against his lips.
His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer, and I feel the world narrow to this—his mouth on mine, his hands in my hair, the phone forgotten on the nightstand, Maya's voice fading into the dark.
We're still standing in the middle of the bedroom, his towel wrapped around my shoulders, the lamp casting long shadows across the walls. Nothing is solved. Nothing is finished. But for this moment, for this breath, I'm exactly where I need to be.
And so is he.