Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 33

“I thought you hated me,” he said after a while, his voice hoarse like it had been unused for days. “Everyone was already against me, and when you pulled away, it felt like the last thing I believed in disappeared.”

My chest tightened.

“I didn’t hate you,” I said, eyes stinging. “I hated that I didn’t know how to hold onto you in the middle of the noise. I hated how fast I let the world blur the version of you that I loved.”

He looked at me, searching for something. Maybe honesty. Maybe something real enough to believe in again.

“Listen to me,” I said softly, “...love isn’t about who we are when everything’s perfect, it’s about who we stay for when everything’s falling apart. I realize that now...”

His lip trembled.

“And...” I whispered. “I hope it's not too late for me to make you feel that kind of love.”

He turned his face slightly, eyes glassy. “I missed you,” he breathed. “I was so sad, but I missed you every second.”

My hand reached up, tracing the line of his jaw, the way I used to when he was lost in thought. “Then let me earn back your trust,” I said. “Not because I deserve it yet… but because I’m willing to fight for it now.”

A moment passed between us, fragile, like a bridge just beginning to form.

He looked down. “I’m still scared.”

“So am I,” I said honestly. “But I’d rather be scared together than safe apart.”

And for the first time in weeks, a faint smile played at the corner of his lips, like a ghost returning to its body. Not joy. Not yet. But the beginning of hope.

He pulled the blanket over us both, laid his head on my shoulder, and exhaled like he’d been holding his breath all this time.

We didn’t need to fix everything that night. But we had cracked the door open. Let the light back in.

And sometimes, love starts again not with fireworks… but with a whisper. With a quiet promise:

“I’m still here.”

I stood slowly, the blanket slipping from my shoulders. James watched me with tired eyes, but there was no panic in them anymore. Just the lingering fog of pain, and maybe- just maybe- a clearing.

I reached for the door and opened it.

“They’re also worried about you…” I said softly.

Before the sentence was even finished, his mother rushed forward like she’d been waiting a lifetime for permission to fall apart. “James,” she gasped, dropping to her knees in front of him, hands trembling as they reached for his. “Son, I’m so sorry. I should have fought harder for you. I should have said something… anything…”

James blinked at her, wide-eyed, like he didn’t quite know how to receive her grief. But he didn’t pull away.

His father stood further back. Slower in his steps. Quieter in his regret.

“I was wrong,” Mr. Gray said - voice lower, heavy with guilt. “About how I spoke to you. About what I expected. I thought I was protecting you from disappointment, but I was only pushing you deeper into it.”

James didn’t say anything. He just looked between them, the silence brittle.

His father cleared his throat, the sound more emotional than stern for once. “You were never a failure to me, James. I just… didn’t know how to handle a son who didn’t do things the way I did. And instead of learning how to love you better, I demanded you change.”

His mother squeezed James’s hand harder. “You haven’t left this room, sweetheart. But I want you to know… we never left you. We didn’t know how to reach you either.”

Still quiet.

Then James looked down, voice raw as sandpaper. “It hurt. All of it. The way you both just… stood there. When I needed someone to believe me.”

His mother’s tears spilled. “I know. And I’ll never stop saying sorry for that.”

His dad stepped forward then- hesitant, but earnest. “We’re not asking for forgiveness in one go. Just a chance. To be better. To be… here.”

There was a long pause. Then James let out a shaky breath and finally said the words no one had been brave enough to speak:

“I missed you mom, dad...”

He didn’t rush into their arms. But his hand reached up, touched his mother’s, and his father placed a hand gently on his shoulder, unsure but sincere.

And I stood there by the door.

Still. Quiet. Letting the moment be theirs.

Because this, too, was part of the healing. Not just for James, but for all of them. And for once, it didn’t feel like I had to hold it all together. I was just… here. Witnessing the cracks slowly mend. Letting the silence speak what words couldn’t.

Love, I realized, doesn’t always scream its return. Sometimes, it knocks, patiently, until the door is ready to open.