The tulips were still sitting on the kitchen counter, their petals too pristine to match the weight they carried. Ava had moved them twice already—first to the windowsill, then back to the counter—but no matter where they sat, they took up more space than they had any right to.
She should have thrown them out.
Instead, she stared at them like they might offer an answer.
It had been two days since Julian left her apartment. Two days of silence from him, and none from Daniel. The card. The flowers. A text that followed yesterday morning: "We should talk. You owe me that much."
She didn't owe him anything.
But the shaking in her hands said otherwise.
Her phone buzzed again. Another message.
This time, not from Daniel.
Julian:Hope your week's not too heavy. I'm around if you want to talk.
She read it twice. The softness of it cut through the noise, but it also stung.
He was pulling back. Gently, kindly, but still—back.
And could she blame him?
She had invited him into her world, then slammed the door shut as soon as her past rattled the frame.
With a sigh, she slipped on a jacket, tied her curls into a bun, and left the apartment.
If she was going to move forward, she needed to face what was behind her.
Daniel was waiting outside the coffee shop, hands in his pockets, sunglasses perched on his too-perfect face. He smiled when he saw her, that same calculated grin that used to make her feel chosen, not cornered.
"You look good," he said.
Ava didn't smile back. "Let's get this over with."
They ordered drinks, then sat at a table by the window. The place was busy, loud enough that no one would overhear but not so loud that she couldn't hear herself think.
Daniel leaned in. "You always did prefer neutral ground."
"I prefer safe ground."
He sipped his espresso, watching her. "You're still sharp."
"And you're still evasive. Why are you here, Daniel?"
He didn't answer right away. "When I saw you with him… I don't know. Something hit me."
"You mean jealousy?"
"I mean regret."
She scoffed. "Of what? Leaving? Belittling me? Or watching me get on with my life without you?"
His jaw tightened. "You were never easy to love, Ava."
"There it is," she said, sitting back. "The thesis statement of our relationship."
He leaned forward. "But that doesn't mean I didn't love you."
"It does, actually," she said calmly. "Because love isn't supposed to shrink you. It doesn't compete. It expands."
Daniel blinked. She could see him trying to recalibrate—trying to readjust to this version of her. One that wasn't apologizing.
"I was wrong," he said finally. "I see that now. I just thought maybe, if I showed up… maybe you'd give me a chance to fix it."
Her fingers tightened around her cup. "You don't get to reappear and rewrite the ending. That chapter is over. Closed."
He swallowed hard. "So, him. Is it serious?"
Ava paused.
"I don't know," she admitted. "But I want it to be."
Daniel nodded slowly, like he'd already known.
"You were right," he said softly. "I didn't know how to love you then. But maybe I needed to lose you to see that."
She stood. "Well, now you have the clarity and I have peace. I'm not giving that up."
As she walked out, she didn't look back. Not even once.
That night, Ava stood outside Julian's building for a full five minutes before she worked up the courage to buzz in.
He opened the door himself, surprised, barefoot in jeans and a faded concert tee.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey."
"Can I come in?"
He stepped aside. "Always."
His apartment was warm and lived-in—so different from her perfectly arranged space. A soft couch, half-finished books stacked beside a record player, and the faint smell of something buttery in the air.
"Popcorn?" she asked.
"I was watching The Princess Bride. Comfort movie."
She smiled. "You really are a softie, aren't you?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell the board."
They sat, a few feet apart, the air between them thick with words left unsaid.
"I saw him," Ava said. "Daniel."
Julian didn't react. Not visibly. But she could see it in the slight shift of his posture.
"I needed to close that door," she added. "Not for him. For me."
"And did you?"
"I slammed it."
He nodded. "Good."
Ava turned toward him. "I'm sorry I pushed you away. You didn't deserve that."
"I get it," he said. "I've got my own ghosts. They don't always knock, but they sure know how to barge in."
She reached for his hand. "I don't want to build a wall between us. But I might still trip on the bricks now and then."
Julian looked down at their fingers, then up at her.
"I can handle a few stumbles," he said. "As long as you're not walking away."
"I'm not."
He exhaled, just a little, like he'd been holding something in since that morning in her apartment.
"I want this, Julian," she said. "Not as a maybe. Not as a rebound. I want to try."
He squeezed her hand gently. "Then we'll try."
They sat like that for a while, no plans, no labels. Just two people who had chosen each other—despite fear, despite history, despite the mess.
Because love, the real kind, didn't wait for clean lines.
It lived in the middle of the chaos.