The next morning, I feel better.
Still a little weak, but the fever's gone. The cough syrup did its job.
I shower slowly, let the water ground me. Then I tie my hair into a low bun and dress in soft loungewear, nothing fancy, just enough to feel like myself again.
I'm about to head downstairs when the doorbell rings.
Strange.
No one ever visits. Not here. Not in Kairo's glass fortress of a penthouse.
I walk barefoot across the marble floor, heart thudding louder than it should. The intercom screen flashes. My breath catches.
Noah.
He's standing outside the main door, holding a white paper bag. And roses.
Not lilies this time, roses.
A fresh wave of confusion rises in my chest.
I hesitate, hand hovering above the button.
Then I open the door.
And he didn't say anything. He just looks at me. Carefully. Like he's trying to figure out how much damage he did and whether it can still be undone.
"You're sick," he says. "I brought soup."
"I already had soup, and how did you know I'm sick?" I say flatly.
"I made this one myself," he says, dismissing my question.
I blink. "You cook now?"
"I've had a lot of time to learn things I should've known back then." His eyes hold mine. "Let me in, Zara. Just for five minutes."
I don't want to.
But I do.
That's the problem.
I step aside. "Five minutes."
He walks in slowly, like he's stepping into a memory. And maybe he is. Because of this, we, in the same room again, feel both brand-new and like something that never fully ended.
"I didn't mean to stay away that long," he says as he sets the bag down.
"You promised me you'd come back," I whisper. "You didn't."
"I know."
"I waited under that tree for hours, Noah."
"I know," he says again, voice breaking a little.
I sit down, too tired to argue. Too full of emotions to hold them all in.
He kneels in front of me.
"I never stopped thinking about you," he says. "But life… it got dark for a while. I thought I was protecting you by staying away. I didn't want to come back half-broken."
"And now?"
"Now I'm here. And I don't care if I'm too late. I'll fight for you, Zara."
My heart twists.
But before I can respond, the elevator dings.
No.
Please, not now.
Kairo steps out in a navy suit and no tie. His eyes land on Noah in an instant.
And then they find me.
Sitting on the couch.
With my ex on his knees in front of me.
The temperature in the room drops five degrees.
Noah stands slowly. "Kairo," he says, offering a hand.
Kairo doesn't take it.
"She said five minutes," Kairo says calmly. "It's been seven."
Noah's jaw ticks. "I was just leaving."
Kairo steps forward, quiet but sharp. "Good. Because you're not welcome here."
"Kairo—" I try to say something, anything, but he cuts me a look that shuts me up instantly.
Noah walks to the door.
Before leaving, he turns to me.
"I'm not going to stop, Zara. You should know that."
And then he's gone.
The door closes.
Silence stretches between us.
I rise slowly. "It was just soup."
"You're not that naive," Kairo says, voice low.
"I didn't invite him. He came."
"You let him in."
I cross my arms. "You're not my boyfriend, Kairo."
He moves in closer. "No. I'm not. But I'm the man who stayed when you were sick. I'm the man who..., I'm your husband."
He stops. Swallows whatever was coming next.
"What are we doing, Zara?" he asks quietly.
"I don't know," I say, honest for once. "You confuse me."
"Good," he says. "Because you confuse the hell out of me, too."
He brushes past me and disappears into his room.
I stood there for a long time, heart racing.
Two men. One past. One present.
And a storm I didn't ask for was brewing fast inside my chest.