It started with coffee.
Ana made two cups.
His, exactly the way he liked it.
No ceremony. Just comfort.
They sat in the sunroom, morning light flooding the glass walls.
And then it happened.
A single sentence.
A slip.
"You act like love is a liability," she said casually, sipping her drink. "Like you're just waiting to be abandoned."
Christian froze.
His grip on the mug tightened.
Ana didn't notice.
Until she looked up—
And saw his expression shift.
Cold. Distant. Blank.
She blinked. "What?"
"Nothing," he said.
Which always meant everything.
⚡ The Crack Appears
"Christian…"
"You're not wrong," he said flatly. "That's the problem."
She set her cup down. "I didn't mean it as a jab."
He looked at her then.
"Did you mean it as a diagnosis?"
Ana inhaled slowly. "I meant it as an observation."
"Well, next time, maybe don't study me like I'm a project," he snapped.
Silence.
Heavy. Immediate. Cutting.
She stood. "That's not fair."
"And this isn't therapy," he replied, rising too. "I let you in. Don't psychoanalyze me just because you're scared I might actually care."
Ana's mouth parted.
Then closed.
Because this wasn't about her anymore.
🥀 He Pulls Away
"I shouldn't have stayed the night," he muttered, stepping past her.
"Don't do this," she said.
But he didn't stop.
Not until he reached the door.
Then quietly—
"I don't know how to be loved by someone who knows where I'm weakest."
And he walked out.
🖋️ Aftermath
Ana stood alone in the sunroom, coffee untouched.
The day felt heavier now.
Because for the first time…
He wasn't pushing her away to protect his image.
He was pushing her away to protect himself.
📓 Ana's Journal Entry #8
I said something wrong.
Not cruel. Not loud.
Just… something that slipped out without permission.
And I watched him shut down like a system being unplugged mid-sentence.
"You act like love is a liability."
That's what I said.
What I meant was —
You deserve it, even if it terrifies you.
But he heard something else.
He heard:
You're broken.
You're a risk.
You're the problem.
And maybe the worst part is…
I knew he'd hear it that way.
Because somewhere deep down, he still believes love is a weakness.
And being seen?
That's his biggest fear of all.
I'm not mad at him.
Not really.
He didn't slam the door.
Didn't yell.
Didn't say something unforgivable.
He just… left.
Quietly.
Like he was protecting both of us from something too soft to survive daylight.
Maybe it's not that he doesn't care.
Maybe he cares so much, it hurts to be touched.
And he'd rather armor up than bleed out.
I don't know if he'll come back.
But if he does…
I hope it's not because he feels guilty.
I hope it's because he's ready to be seen—
And not run from it.
She closed the journal.
Didn't cry this time.
She just sat there, holding the pen like a weapon and a wish.
To be continued…