The door hadn't closed yet.
He had picked up his coat. He had taken a step.
But he hadn't left.
Lydia stood still, her heart screaming behind the silence she wore like armor. Her lips parted slightly-there was something she wanted to say, something fragile, trembling at the edge of her tongue.
"Max," she said finally, barely louder than a breath.
He paused in the doorway, his back still to her.
The rain had started outside, soft and steady.
The kind that didn't pour-but stayed, quietly reminding you it was there.
He didn't turn around when he spoke.
"You know what hurts the most?" His voice was low. "It's not that I loved you in silence. It's that I did it so well... you never even noticed."
Lidia's chest tightened.
He let out a slow breath, then turned to face her
—and she wished he hadn't.
Because the look in his eyes wasn't anger. It wasn't disappointment.
It was pain.
The kind that's been carried too long.
"I waited, Lydia," he said. "For years, I kept telling myself you'd look at me one day and just know.
That something would click. That you'd feel what I felt. But you never did."
"That's not true," she said quickly. "I- I just didn't see it back then. Or maybe I didn't let myself."
Max stepped closer. Just once. Then again. Until he was standing only a breath away.
"I memorized your favorite tea. The way you hum when you're nervous. The way you never cry in front of people, but your hands give you away. I noticed everything, Lydia And I kept it all like it meant something."
Her throat closed. Her vision blurred.
"I thought I had time," he continued. "Time to wait. Time to let you come to me. But now I realize... maybe I was just a coward. Maybe I waited too long."
She shook her head. "No... you didn't."
Max stared at her.
And then finally-finally-his voice broke.
"I love you."
Just like that.
No poetry. No buildup. No drama.
Three words, quiet but certain, falling between them like truth too long delayed.
Lydia felt like the floor had tilted beneath her.
Something inside her cracked open—a wound she didn't even know was still there.
Her lips trembled. "Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Because you smiled like I was just family," he said.
"And I didn't want to ruin that."
Her voice was a whisper. "You never were just family to me."
Max blinked. "Then why—?"
"Because I was scared," she said. "Scared I was making it all up. Scared that if I said something and you didn't feel the same, l'd lose you."
A long silence settled in the room. Not empty.
Not heavy.
Just full.
Of realization.Of all the years they'd spent loving each other in different silences.
Max reached for her hand, slow, hesitant, as if still unsure she'd let him.
But she didn't pull away.
Her fingers curled into his like they'd been waiting their whole life for that exact touch.
Neither of them said another word.
They didn't need to.
Not in that moment.
Because love had finally found its voice.
And for now, that was enough.