Elias
He walked away before he could stop himself.
Not far.
Not fast.
Just enough to catch his breath.
The hallway outside the training room felt too bright, too noisy — even though there was no one there. His chest ached as if something had broken open and wouldn't close again.
Aurora's words echoed in his mind.
When you played for me… I felt something I couldn't ignore.
He pressed his palm against the wall, steadying himself.
He wanted to believe her.
God, he did.
But believing was always dangerous.
Footsteps approached behind him — slow, careful.
"Elias," Aurora said gently.
He didn't turn around.
"I'm not angry," she continued. "And I'm not here to force anything."
This made the situation even worse.
"Then why are you here?" he asked softly.
"Because you ran," she said. "And you don't have to."
The silence between them trembled — fragile and trembling.
Finally Elias turned.
Aurora stood a few feet away, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her eyes staring at his face as if she was afraid it would disappear if she blinked.
"You scared me," he said honestly. "What you said... scared me."
"I know." Her voice trembled. "I was scared too."
He laughed bitterly. "You shouldn't be afraid of me. You should be sure. Trusting. Someone who doesn't destroy you every time things get real."
Aurora took a step closer.
"Elias," she whispered, "I don't want perfect. I want honest."
He swallowed.
"The honesty you want?" he said. "Messy. And ugly. And it ruins things."
"Then let it be," she said. "I'm still here."
That was the problem.
She was still here.
Too close now. Close enough for him to smell her shampoo, feel the warmth of her presence.
He looked down at her lips before he could stop himself.
Aurora noticed.
She was shocked.
In a fragile moment, the world between them shrank—a breath, a heartbeat, a choice.
She tilted her head slightly.
Attractive.
Not demanding.
Elias bowed—
And fear hit him like a wave.
He suddenly pulled back.
"I can't do it," he said, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry."
Aurora froze.
"Oh," she whispered.
Pain flashed across him face before he could hide it.
"I didn't mean to—" Elias began, stroking her hair. "I just—I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to be another mistake you'll regret."
"You won't do that," she said quickly.
"You don't know that."
Her eyes lit up. "You don't get to decide how I feel, Elias."
He shook her head. "I need time."
The words that came out of his mouth felt cruel the moment they came out.
Aurora nodded slowly, forcing herself to breathe.
"Okay," she said softly. "I'll give you space."
That hurt more than anger.
He turned to leave, then stopped.
"For whatever it's worth," he said softly, without looking back,
"what I felt in that room was real. And I don't regret it."
Then he walked away.
Elias stood alone in the hallway even though the woman had been gone for a long time.
His chest felt hot.
His hands trembled.
He wanted her to stay.
But the voice of fear was louder than his heart.
And when he was finally sitting against the wall, he realized something terrifying:
He hadn't pushed her away because he didn't care.
He had pushed her away because he cared too much.