A D R I A N

From my balcony, the island looks like it’s breathing, the boardwalk below flickers with lanterns, each one catching the wind before steadying, like her. She’s standing near the end of the rail, hair loose, face tilted toward the sea. I can’t hear what she says, but I know the shape of confession when I see it. It’s in the way her shoulders drop, the way her hands unclench.

For weeks, I told myself she was the problem but the truth is simpler. I was afraid of wanting her, of what that wanting makes me, and now I’m up here watching her find peace without me.
The sea below looks like it’s swallowing the stars, every lantern strung along the boardwalk throws its reflection back at the water, trembling, alive. From up here, I can see the glow reach her. She’s standing at the far end of the railing, still, arms crossed like she’s holding herself together. For a second, the light hits her face, and I see something I haven’t seen in weeks, peace or maybe it’s surrender. I can’t tell the difference anymore.

She says something to the sea. I can’t hear it, but her mouth shapes the word want and it’s enough to ruin me. Because I know what that word tastes like in her voice, I know how it sounds when she’s trying not to say it.

I lean my hands on the balcony rail, the wood is warm under my palms, slick with salt. Lanterns bob in the distance like small hearts refusing to drown. Below, laughter spills from the boardwalk bar, too bright, too alive for the kind of silence I’m standing in. I should go back inside. Pretend I don’t see her, pretend tonight is just another night in a long line of nights where I keep everything under control.

But control hasn’t saved me, it’s only made me lonelier. So I stay, and watch the woman who should’ve walked away hours ago stand in the glow like she belongs there more than I ever will.

I used to think wanting someone meant weakness, that it made you reckless, stupid, distracted. My father called it a compromise and my mother called it dangerous timing. Every lesson I’ve learned in this family taught me to choose ambition over attachment. And I did, beautifully and ruthlessly. I built this empire of precision, hired people to make mistakes for me so I could stay perfect.

Then she arrived, and nothing fit anymore, the faceless women, the ones I kept between sheets and rules, they were safe because they never asked for anything real. I didn’t need to see their eyes. I didn’t need to care, it was control dressed as connection. Every touch rehearsed and every ending is clean.

Elara ruined that, and she doesn’t even try. She looks at me and I forget how to breathe, how to talk like a man who has everything figured out. She says my name and it sounds like forgiveness I don’t deserve.

I keep replaying the last fight, the words I threw at her just to hurt her before she could hurt me. The look she gave me before she walked out, the one that said she’d already forgiven me and that somehow made it worse. Fear isn’t something I’m supposed to feel. Not with her, or with anyone, but the truth is I’m fucking terrified, not of losing her but of needing her.

I drag a hand through my hair, feel the tremor in my fingers. Down below, a string of lanterns flickers out one by one as the workers test the circuits. It looks like the sea’s heartbeat is slowing. It makes me think of the cave night, of her pulse under my hands. How she trusted me, how I broke that trust the minute I let anger speak louder than care. I don’t know how to fix what I wrecked, but I know I can’t stand up here pretending anymore.

“Adrian.”

Her voice startles me, soft but sure, I turn, and she’s already on the balcony. Barefoot, hair loose, lantern light catches in it, turning strands to gold. She shouldn’t be this close; we promised distance, but there she is, as if the promise never existed.

“I didn’t hear you come up,” I say, quieter than I meant to.

“You looked like you were somewhere else.” She leans on the railing beside me, leaving just enough space between us for the wind to slip through. “I almost didn’t come.”

“Why did you?”

She hesitates. “Because every time I try to stop caring, I remember that you’re not the man everyone thinks you are.”

I laugh under my breath, sharp and tired. “That’s generous.”

“It’s not generosity,” she says. “It’s honesty.”

The word lands heavy, I grip the rail harder. “Honesty hasn’t exactly gone well for us.”

“No,” she admits. “But anger hasn’t either.”

Her eyes meet mine, there’s no accusation there, just exhaustion. The kind that comes after too many nights holding your own walls up.

“I keep thinking about the cave,” she says. “How you said,  say no, I stop. You meant it. Even when you were angry later, I knew you still meant it. That’s what makes this harder.”

I swallow hard, looking back at the sea. “I’m not good at gentle, Elara.”

“I don’t need gentle.” Her voice cracks once, but she doesn’t look away. “I just need true.”

Something in me snaps quiet, for the first time in months, I let the silence stretch and fill itself. The air between us hums, warm, charged and unsteady. Finally, I say what’s been rotting in my throat. “I was afraid of you, and of this, and  of what wanting you makes me.”

She exhales, like she’s been holding her breath since that night. “Then maybe wanting doesn’t have to destroy us.”

I turn to her slowly, she’s still watching the horizon, but I can feel her waiting for something real this time. Not power plays or silence, just truth.

“I wanted you in the cave because I thought we were dying,” I said quietly. “But after… when we didn’t die, that’s when it got worse.”

She glances over, brow furrowed.

“Because then I had to live with how much I felt. How much I still feel, I didn’t plan for that and I never planned for you.”

Her mouth opens, then shuts again, her fingers curl slightly on the railing, like they’re gripping for balance.

“I’ve spent my whole life thinking control meant safety,” I go on. “If I could manage the optics, the business, the women, then nothing could touch me. Then I met you and suddenly everything mattered. Your voice. Your fucking lists. The way you looked at me like you saw me and still didn’t flinch.”

Her breath catches, I hate myself for the tears pooling in her eyes, tears I’ve caused, again and again.

“Elara, I’ve been cold for years,” I admit. “You made me feel human again, and that scared the shit out of me.”

She steps closer, slow and careful, as if testing the ground beneath us. “I know the feeling.”

We stand in silence, both of us raw, both trying not to bleed too openly. Then she does it, she reaches out, just two fingers brushing the back of my hand. Barely there, but it undoes me.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” I whisper.

“Then don’t,” she says simply. “Be the man who asked me for permission, not the one who used anger as armor.”

I glance at our hands, her fingers resting against mine, small, steady, sure. I hook my pinky around hers. It’s barely a touch, but it means everything.

“We’re never going to be easy,” I tell her. “I’ll screw up again and say the wrong thing. I want more than I should, and  forget how to hold it without breaking it.”

“Then we’ll learn,” she says. “Together, or not at all.”

God, she’s strong, even when she’s breaking, I let go of the railing and face her fully. “Can we try again?”

She doesn’t answer right away, her eyes flick over my face like she’s reading every unspoken word I’ve never learned how to say.

Then I add, softer: “This time… without anger.”

It feels like the most fragile thing I’ve ever offered. Not sex, or power, but just… the hope that we’re both still standing on the same side of the wreckage. The wind lifts her hair., and the lanterns below us flicker like they’re listening. She doesn’t say yes, but she doesn’t pull away.

Elara steps in so close enough that our arms touch, her warmth sinking into my skin like sunlight. She tilts her head back, eyes locked on mine, and for one suspended breath, I think she might kiss me, and I want her to.

Instead, she whispers, “Don’t ask me for promises you’re not ready to keep.”

She doesn’t storm off, she just walks away, quiet, certain and gone before I can reach for her. The balcony feels too wide and the air too thin. Below, the last lantern rises, slow and burning, like a goodbye I never gave voice to.