I didn't think I was the jealous type.
Not until I saw her.
She was standing too close to him — not touching, not obvious — the kind of closeness that comes from familiarity. Her laughter reached him easily, like she'd done it many times before.
Noah smiled at her.
It wasn't the gentle smile he gave me.It was lighter. Easier.
That's what hurt.
I stopped walking.
He noticed me a second later and lifted his hand. "Aira."
Her eyes followed his gaze and landed on me, curious but kind.
"Hi," she said, already smiling.
I nodded. "Hi."
"This is Lena," Noah said. "We—"
"—used to work together," she finished for him. "A long time ago."
Used to.
The word didn't comfort me the way it should have.
Lena turned to him. "You're still terrible at replying to messages."
He laughed softly. "Some habits survive."
I wondered which habits those were.I wondered if she knew him in ways I didn't.
We walked together for a bit. Conversation stayed light, polite — but I felt like an outsider in my own moment.
Lena excused herself after a while.
"Good to see you again, Noah," she said, squeezing his arm before leaving.
I watched her walk away.
"You didn't tell me about her," I said, keeping my voice neutral.
"You didn't ask," he replied.
Fair.
Still, something sat uncomfortably in my chest.
Later, when we sat across from each other in the café, I finally said it.
"You seem… close."
He looked up. "With Lena?"
I nodded.
"She's part of my past," he said simply.
"And am I?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
He froze — just for a moment — but I saw it.
"I don't put you in categories," he said carefully.
"That doesn't answer the question."
He leaned back, studying me like he was choosing his words with caution.
"I don't let myself imagine past or future," he said. "Only what's in front of me."
"And what's in front of you right now?" I asked.
"You."
His answer should have been enough.
It wasn't.
Because I didn't want to be right now.I wanted to be chosen.
I looked away, embarrassed by my own thoughts.
"This is what the rules were for, wasn't it?" I said. "To stop this."
"To stop expectations," he corrected gently. "Not feelings."
"That sounds like a lie people tell themselves."
He smiled sadly. "Maybe."
Silence settled between us.
I realized then — jealousy wasn't about Lena.
It was about the fear that he could walk away without looking back,because he already knew how to live without me.
When we said goodbye that night, his hug lingered longer than usual.
"You're quiet," he said.
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
I hesitated. Then answered honestly.
"About how much of you belongs to me."
His arms tightened — just slightly.
"Enough," he said. "For now."
That night, I understood something I wasn't ready to admit:
You don't get jealous when you don't care.And you don't get afraid unless there's something worth losing.