The honesty changed things.
That was the problem.
Once the truth was out in the open, neither of them could hide behind confusion anymore.
Aira felt it the next few days—the weight of knowing exactly where things hurt.
Reyhan didn't disappear again.
Didn't cancel plans.
Didn't go quiet.
Instead, he stayed.
And staying made everything feel heavier.
Because now, effort was visible.
And effort came with expectations.
They sat together after school, not touching, not distant—just tense in a way that felt fragile.
"You've been trying," Aira said finally.
Reyhan nodded. "I don't want to lose this."
"That's not what I asked," she replied gently.
He looked at her.
"I'm scared of promising something I don't know how to maintain," he admitted.
"I don't want to say 'forever' when I'm still learning how to show up today."
Aira swallowed.
"I'm not asking for forever," she said.
"I'm asking for consistency."
That word settled between them.
Consistency.
Reyhan ran a hand through his hair.
"I can be present," he said.
"But I don't know if I can always be strong."
"I don't need strong," Aira replied.
"I need honest."
He looked relieved—and terrified.
"What if honesty means admitting I'm not ready?" he asked.
Aira didn't flinch.
"Then say that," she replied.
"But don't hold me in a space you can't fully stand in."
Silence stretched.
Reyhan finally said the thing he'd been avoiding—
"I care about you," he said.
"But I don't know if I can give you what you deserve right now."
Aira's chest tightened painfully.
Not because it was cruel.
Because it was true.
"I don't want to force timing," she said quietly.
"But I also don't want to wait inside uncertainty."
Reyhan nodded slowly.
"I don't want to lose you," he said.
"And I don't want to lose myself waiting," Aira replied.
They sat there, the truth bare between them.
No yelling.
No blame.
Just two people realizing care wasn't always enough.
Not yet.
Reyhan finally asked, voice low—
"What are you saying?"
Aira took a breath.
"I'm saying we can't keep standing halfway," she said.
"We either choose to try fully… or we pause before we hurt each other more."
That was it.
The choice.
Reyhan closed his eyes briefly.
"I need time," he said.
"To learn how to be here without fear deciding for me."
Aira nodded, even though it hurt.
"I can respect that," she said.
"But I won't stay in limbo."
They stood up slowly.
Nothing ended.
But nothing stayed the same either.
Because sometimes, love didn't break you.
Uncertainty did.
RULE #61: Don't ask for forever when you can't hold today.
Because staying halfway hurts more
than choosing honestly ever could.