Chapter Twenty-Five: Yours to Withhold
The message wasn't meant for her.
She knew that the second she saw it—half-glimpsed on Aiden's screen when he left his laptop open on the kitchen island.
Just a name in the subject line: "Request: Anonymous Poet Interview."
Her chest went still.
She didn't open it. Didn't need to.
The name beneath the subject line was enough.
Rachel Dovner. Literary columnist. Big platform. Bigger reach.
She knew that name the way aspiring writers knew all the names. The ones you dreamed would one day notice you.
And she had.
Not her name, maybe—but her words.
And Aiden had seen it.
And hadn't told her.
---
She stood there for a long time.
Long enough for the tea kettle to start shrieking.
She turned it off, poured nothing.
The room felt too quiet now. Like it was waiting for her to choose what kind of silence to carry forward.
One that swallowed.
Or one that spoke.
---
Aiden walked in five minutes later, still tugging his sleeve into place.
He looked tired. Distracted. His usual armor was cracked at the edges.
"Morning," he said.
She didn't answer.
He looked up.
Then paused.
"Elena?"
She nodded toward the laptop. "You got an email."
His jaw tightened. Just a tiny bit "I know."
"You didn't think I should see it?"
"It wasn't urgent."
She tilted her head. "Not urgent?"
"I was going to show you," he said. "When you were ready."
"Who decided I wasn't?"
---
That landed.
Clean. Precise.
He didn't flinch—but he didn't deflect either.
"Elena," he said quietly. "I wasn't trying to keep it from you. I just didn't want to pressure you."
"That's not your call."
He exhaled. "No. It's not."
She crossed her arms, the air between them thinning.
"I don't need a gatekeeper," she said. "I need a partner."
"You have one."
"Then act like it."
---
Silence.
But this one wasn't empty either.
Aiden stepped closer. Careful.
"I thought I was protecting you."
She nodded once. "I know."
"I thought—if I gave you the space, the time, the choice—you'd feel safe."
"I don't want safe," she said. "I want honest."
He looked at her, eyes searching hers.
"You're right," he said finally. "I should've told you the second it came in."
She didn't soften.
But she didn't pull away either.
"Next time," she said, "let me decide what I can handle."
"I will."
---
The tension shifted—not gone, but realigned.
Trust didn't break.
But it cracked a little.
And now, they both knew where the fault lines were.
---
Want me to keep going and finish Chapter 25 from here? Next beats:
Aiden gives her the email to read fully—her choice now
Elena reads it alone. The offer is respectful, not pushy. It feels real.
She doesn't say yes. But she starts writing again. Not for the blog. Not for fame. For clarity.
Aiden didn't try to fix it.
He just opened the laptop, pulled up the email, and turned the screen toward her.
"I haven't responded," he said. "It's yours."
Elena stared at the screen for a long moment.
Then she sat down.
And read.
---
Rachel Dovner's message was short. Thoughtful. Precise.
> "To the poet who's spoken what many of us haven't dared to put into words:
We don't know your name. But we recognize your voice.
If and only if you wish to share more—we'd be honored to feature your work. Anonymously or not. On your terms.
No pressure. No assumption.
Just an open door, held wide."
Elena read it twice.
Then a third time.
She didn't speak.
She just closed the laptop lid gently, and stood.
---
Aiden watched her, unreadable.
"Well?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Not yet."
He nodded. Didn't press.
But as she started to walk past him, she paused.
"You said you were protecting me."
"I thought I was."
"Maybe you were," she said softly. "But you don't have to. Not like that."
"I hear you."
She looked at him, something behind her eyes sharpening.
Then she added, "Next time, trust me with the weight. Even if it scares you."
His voice was low. "Even if it scares me?"
She nodded once. "Especially then."
---
She left the room without another word.
But she wasn't angry anymore.
She was awake.
And something inside her was changing shape.
---
ELENA'S POV
She didn't go back to the writing room.
She went to the bedroom, sat on the floor by the window, and opened a fresh notebook.
No old pages.
No recycled lines.
Just her, now.
And the version of herself that might exist on the other side of fear.
She dated the top of the page, then wrote the title without hesitation.
> In Case I Say Yes
And then she began.
---
She wrote like she had nothing to prove.
Like she wasn't fighting for oxygen anymore.
Like the voice in her chest had finally stopped whispering, You're not supposed to be here.
She didn't write a poem.
She wrote a letter.
To herself.
To the girl who used to wait for permission.
To the woman learning that power isn't in being heard—it's in choosing when to speak.
---
AIDEN'S POV
He didn't knock.
Didn't ask.
He just stood in the hallway, outside the closed door, hand resting on the frame.
He could feel the silence humming on the other side.
It wasn't cold.
It wasn't closed.
It was hers.
And he knew, if he was going to be part of her world, he had to earn his place in it.
Not buy it.
Not name it.
Just show up.
Like she did—quietly, powerfully, when no one was watching.
---
That night, she didn't show him the new pages.
She just looked at him across the dinner table and said,
"I'm writing again."
He didn't ask for more.
He just nodded and said,
"Good."
And meant it.