Part 4: When the Doors Opened
The elevator slowed.
Not stopped—slowed.
Like it was giving them time to think.
She was still holding his hand. She realized it only because her fingers began to ache from how tightly she was gripping him. When she tried to loosen them, he squeezed back once. A quiet warning. Or reassurance. She couldn’t tell.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said softly.
“Neither do you.”
The numbers above the door flickered. One floor away.
Her heart raced—not with fear, but with the weight of what waited on the other side. The world. The rules. The reasons they’d never finished this in the first place.
“What happens when those doors open?” she asked.
He looked at her then—not like a memory, not like a mistake—but like a decision.
“That depends,” he said. “Are you walking away again?”
The elevator came to a full stop.
The chime sounded—too loud, too final.
She released his hand.
The doors slid open.
And standing on the other side was the one person who wasn’t supposed to see them together.
Her breath caught.
His hand found hers again.





















































































