The steps between us.

That Look Between Them

Chapter 10 – (Avery)

I didn't mean to go to the park. My brain said "walk it off," but my feet dragged me toward the one place that's always felt like Ilona. Where the sidewalk curves just right near the swing sets, where we used to split slushies and pretend clouds looked like dragons.

What I didn't expect was to see her.

With him.

Isaac.

They were sitting on the bench under the big oak—her spot. Her knees tucked under her like she always does when she's relaxed. Him leaning in just close enough to make my stomach drop.

I froze.

Not because I thought they'd see me—because I didn't want to interrupt whatever that moment was. I wanted to know how long it had been going on. I wanted to not care.

But I did.

God, I did.

I walked over anyway. Dumb, maybe. But I couldn't just stand there with the wind in my chest and do nothing.

Isaac greeted me like we were still cool. He had that grin he saves for people he assumes already like him. And Ilona—she looked up at me with those wide, soft eyes like she'd just been caught doing something wrong but wasn't sure what it was.

I said something. I don't even remember what. Something casual. Safe. Then I turned and left like I had somewhere more important to be.

I didn't.

I just couldn't stand there while Isaac said things I hadn't had the nerve to say yet.

And worse—while she listened.

When I get home, I toss my hoodie onto the floor and pace my room like it'll shake the tension off. But it clings to me. Heavy. Familiar. The kind of ache I've been too proud to name.

I almost text her.

Again.

But I don't want to be a string of apologies on her screen. I want to be more than that.

The truth is, I didn't just see her with him.

I saw the gap between what we are and what we could've been if I'd spoken sooner.

And that scares me more than seeing his arm around her ever could.

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My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Once.

I let it sit there.

Twice.

I pick it up, heart tight like it's bracing for a message I don't know how to read.

It's from Ilona.

> He said he used to like me.

No "hey." No explanation. Just that.

My stomach flips.

I stare at the message, letting the weight of it settle in. Of course Isaac told her. Of course he would come back, all smooth smiles and soft nostalgia, and finally say the thing I'd spent years choking back.

I reread her message.

She didn't say how she felt about it. Didn't say if it changed anything. Just that it happened. And that she thought I should know.

After a beat, I text back:

> Yeah. He told me.

A pause.

Then another message:

> What did you say?

The dots appear on her end. Then vanish. Then come back. Like her fingers are arguing with her honesty.

Finally:

> I said thank you. That's all.

I read that line three times and still feel like I missed a secret between the words.

I want to ask—was that all you felt?

Instead, I just write:

> Okay.

And then, before I can talk myself out of it, I add:

> Do you want to talk about it? In person, I mean. Just you and me. No guessing. No silence.

Because I'm done watching moments slip past me like light through my fingers. I want her to know where I stand—even if I waited too long.

Even if she doesn't stand in the same place anymore.

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