Theo's pov
I don't know why I said it.
Those words came out like smoke from something already burning inside me.
I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it.
I've never said something like that to a girl. Not even the ones who deserved it. Not even the ones who played me. But Val? Val.
God, I didn't mean it.
All I wanted was to say, "I'm sorry."
To tell her I wasn't trying to be cold. That the silence wasn't distance—it was me fighting every instinct not to grab her right there in the hallway and say:
I like you. I like you so much it scares the hell out of me.
But instead?
"Try not to die of heartbreak."
That's what I gave her.
Like a bastard.
I didn't even look back.
And now I'm here, sitting alone in my room with my head in my hands while the sky outside keeps mocking me with how freaking peaceful it looks.
She's probably crying right now.
Because of me.
I know her. I see her. That soft, guarded look in her eyes when she talks to her sister. The way she presses her lips together when she's trying not to cry. The way she cares even when she pretends not to. I should've told her I understood. That I was proud of her. That I noticed she was about to cry and it killed me to be the reason.
But my mouth betrayed me. My pride won.
Again.
I threw the apple slice across the room. It hit the wall and slid down like a lazy insult.
I don't want to go to Russia.
I don't want Nicol.
I want Val.
I want Val and her dumb hoodies, and her freaking snowflake earrings, and the way she says my name like she wants to punch me and kiss me in the same breath.
But I messed up.
Again.
I stared at my phone. Her name stared back from the top of my messages. Unread. Unreplied. Uncalled.
If I texted now, what would I say?
> I didn't mean it?
Too weak.
> I miss you?
Too soon.
> You looked beautiful today and I wish I wasn't such a goddamn coward?
Too much.
I pressed the lock button. Tossed the phone aside.
Val.
She left my place like Cinderella. And now I'm the idiot prince who let her go and sent a damn driver to return her shoe.
Because I was scared.
Because I liked her too much.
Because if I saw her again, I'd say something reckless like "I think I fell for you."
And that would ruin everything.
Wouldn't it?
But maybe everything's already ruined.
I curled up on the couch, closed my eyes, and whispered into the quiet, just to myself:
"I'm sorry, babe. I didn't mean it."
I hoped the wind would carry it to her somehow.