"Sometimes the person you push away is the only one who wanted to stay." ~ Unknown
The terrace was empty, the last traces of sunset fading into deep blue. Michael walked to the low wall and looked out at the valley, the lights of distant villages beginning to flicker on.
A movement near the far corner caught his attention. A figure lay on the bench, one leg folded over the other, a hand behind her head and the other holding a vape.
Selina.
Michael hesitated. A familiar scene from long ago surfaced in his memory. Selina's back facing him as she smoked in the train passageway. He didn't know if he should disturb her.
He took a step forward. Selina sensed his presence and titled her head. When she saw it was him, her shoulders relaxed. She turned back lifted her vape to her lips, and exhaled a slow stream of smoke. Then slowly, she sat up.
Michael walked up to her and sat beside her. He glanced sideways, reading the tension in her jaw, the way she held herself too still.
"Hi," he said.
For a moment, nothing. Then Selina released another breath of smoke and asked, without looking at him, "What are you doing here?"
"I came out for fresh air."
"Oh."
He waited. The silence stretched.
"Is everything okay?" he asked finally.
Selina turned to look at him, her gaze flat, unreadable.
"You seem down," Michael pressed gently.
"Why do you care?"
"Because we're friends."
A short, humourless laugh escaped her. "Hah. What an amazing friend."
Michael felt the words. "What do you mean?"
Selina looked at him then, and there was something sharp in her eyes, something that wanted to push, to wound, to drive him away before he could leave on his own.
"Stop pretending," she said, her voice cold. "A few texts on Instagram doesn't make us friends. We barely know anything about each other. I don't even remember your family name."
The words hung in the air. Michael's expression didn't change, but something in his chest tightened.
"Do you really mean that?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah." Her chin lifted, defiant. "You're just like everyone else. Trying to befriend me for your own reasons. None of you actually wants to be my friend."
Michael absorbed the blow. Then he asked, his voice even, "Is that why you didn't invite me?"
Selina's composure flickered. "What?"
"You invited everyone else. You said we were friends, but you didn't even text me to say you were back or that you were having a gathering."
Selina opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. She hadn't thought about that. She had told her friends to spread the word through the group chat; she hadn't called anyone personally. But she didn't want to explain herself.
Her silence was answer enough.
Michael smiled, a small, self-deprecating thing that didn't reach his eyes. "Sorry for coming uninvited. I'll leave early tomorrow."
He turned and walked away.
Selina watched him go. She wanted to call out, to explain, to take back the words she hadn't even meant. But her voice wouldn't come. She stood frozen until the door closed behind him, and then she was alone on the terrace with the cold and the quiet and the hollow feeling spreading through her chest.
Downstairs, Michael found Asper and a few others near the fireplace. He kept his voice casual. "Something came up. I'm going to rest early."
He closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed of the guest room, staring at the wall, replaying Selina's words.
You're just like everyone else.
He had spent years being invisible, comfortable in the margins. He hadn't realised how much it would hurt to not be seen by the one person you wanted to be seen.
Selina came down from the terrace half an hour later. The living room was still bright with laughter; someone had started a game of cards, and the smell of barbecue drifted in from outside. She retreated to her room.
She lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, her phone beside her, untouched. She thought about texting Michael, explaining that she hadn't meant it, that she had just been angry, not at him, but at her mother, at herself. But the words wouldn't come. And maybe, she thought, he was better off not getting tangled in her mess.
She didn't sleep well.
Morning light filtered through the curtains. Selina woke later than usual, the clock on the nightstand reading just past eight. She washed up slowly, then made her way downstairs.
The kitchen was alive with noise, clattering plates, laughter, and the smell of something sweet and warm. Some of the group were gathered around the dining table, plates piled high.
Selina slid into an empty seat, her eyes scanning the room. She didn't see Michael.
Her stomach tightened. She fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve, her appetite fading.
Then she heard a voice from the kitchen, calm, familiar, asking about the honey.
Michael emerged carrying a pan of fresh pancakes. He wore a simple black apron over a white sweatshirt and black jeans. His movements were easy, unhurried, as if last night had been nothing.
He set the pan on the counter, glanced around the table, and noticed Selina sitting alone. Without a word, he slid a pancake onto a plate and brought it to her.
Selina stared at the plate, then up at him.
"Do you want butter or honey?" he asked, his voice neutral, as if asking a stranger.
The word cut more than she expected. "Honey," she said quietly.
He drizzled honey over the pancake, set the plate in front of her, and turned back toward the kitchen without another word.
Selina watched him go, her appetite still missing, her chest tight with something she couldn't name. She had pushed him away, and he had accepted it calmly, without a fight. She should have been relieved.