POV: Ava Chen
The car was quiet.
Too quiet.
Even with the faint hum of the engine and the whisper of tires on asphalt, I could hear my own heartbeat. It was loud and fast and thumping like it didn't know how to slow down.
Austin didn't speak.
His hand was still holding mine, fingers wrapped around mine so tightly, like he thought I might slip through his grip and vanish. Like I was something fragile.
I guess I was.
I just didn't know it until today.
My other hand was clutching my phone. I hadn't even noticed how hard I was holding it until my knuckles turned white.
"She said you don't love me," I said suddenly. My voice came out cracked. Small. "She said I was just a… a bandage."
He didn't look at me. But his jaw ticked. Just once.
"She said I was too much. That I cry too loud, and I hug too tight. That I ruined everything."
Silence again.
"Say something," I whispered. "Please."
Austin exhaled slowly, like he'd been holding his breath this whole time. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low. Calm. But it trembled at the edges.
"Ava. Look at me."
I turned to him, tears blurring my vision.
"I don't love you because I feel guilty," he said. "I don't love you because I'm broken. I don't love you out of obligation, or pity, or because you were the last good thing left after Vivienne left."
He reached out and brushed my cheek with his knuckles.
"I love you because you're you. Because you smile like the sun comes out just for you. Because you care too much, and you talk too much, and you try to love every single person who walks into your world like they deserve a second chance. Even the ones who don't."
I stared at him, lip trembling.
"She said I don't know you," I whispered. "That you're lonely. That you have nightmares. That I don't fix anything."
Austin didn't blink. "I am lonely. I do have nightmares. And you don't fix me, Ava."
My heart dropped.
"But I don't need you to fix me," he said softly. "I need you to stay. To sit beside me on the bad days. To eat mangoes with me on the good ones. To poke my side when I'm being moody. To draw hearts in my planner and put pink ribbons in my hair and talk my scary men into playing Uno on Sunday nights."
I let out a choked laugh.
"I don't want perfect," he said. "I want you."
A tear slipped down my cheek. "But I'm too much."
"No," he said. "You're everything."
I was crying now. Full-on, messy, nose-sniffling, chest-heaving crying. And the moment I started, he pulled me into his arms and held me like I was the center of gravity.
Like if he let go, he'd fly apart.
"I'm sorry she hurt you," he murmured. "I never wanted her to come back. I'll make sure she never touches your life again."
"I was scared," I whispered into his shirt. "I was so scared you'd believe her."
He pulled back just enough to look at me. "Ava. I don't care what she says. You're mine. You're my girl. My sunshine. My pain in the ass. My entire world."
I laughed through my tears.
Then I did something stupid.
I climbed onto his lap right there in the backseat like I was five years old, curled into his chest and buried my face under his chin. He didn't even flinch. He just tightened his arms around me and leaned his cheek against my hair.
And that's how we rode home.
In silence.
In warmth.
Wrapped around each other like maybe — just maybe — that was all we'd ever need.