*Present*
Jay-Jay's POV
I don't realize I'm shaking until the photo album slips a little from my hands.
The final image—me at eighteen, smiling like the world could never hurt me—stares back with the same softness I lost years ago. My thumb traces the worn edge of the page, the paper thin from being touched too many times, too many nights. I inhale slowly, but the breath feels trapped beneath my ribs.
Close it.That's what I tell myself.
But my fingers hesitate—because closing it feels like shutting the door on a version of me that only exists in these pictures. A girl who didn't know heartbreak yet. A girl who had Keifer's arms around her every morning, who believed promises didn't shatter.
I force myself to shut the album.
The soft thud sounds final, like a heartbeat stopping.
But the emotions don't quiet down. If anything, closing it just makes them press harder against the walls of my chest.
The room suddenly feels too small.
My condo is usually my sanctuary: high ceilings, glass walls, clean lines, the soft hum of the city outside. But tonight, it feels suffocating. Like all the air has thickened with memories I never gave permission to return.
I put the album aside, but it still feels like it's staring at me.
My hands rub my face, pushing back the heat burning behind my eyes. "Stop it," I whisper, but my voice cracks.
Stop remembering him.Stop remembering me.
I stand abruptly, needing distance—even though there's nowhere to go. The living room stretches out in crisp whites and muted blacks, designed to be calm. Controlled. Everything in place, everything organized, everything safe.
Except me.
My footsteps echo as I move toward the glass wall, the city lights glittering beyond like tiny stars trapped in buildings. New York never sleeps, but tonight, it feels like it's holding its breath with me.
I press my forehead against the cool glass, hoping it will quiet the storm inside. But behind my eyelids, the past flashes again, uninvited:
Keifer's hand brushing my cheek.His voice murmuring my name.His promise ring glinting under the lights.His lips, warm and soft, claiming mine like he owned the right.
My heart lurches.
It's been years.Years since I walked away.Years since I rebuilt myself from ashes.Years since I told myself I didn't miss him.
But tonight, the truth is merciless.
I do. I always did.
I push away from the glass, pacing the length of the room. My breaths grow shallow. My palms feel sweaty. Every corner of this condo suddenly feels haunted by eighteen-year-old Jay—who didn't know she would leave without saying goodbye.
"Why now?" I breathe out.
Why do the memories feel so close tonight? Why do they feel like warm fingers brushing my skin instead of distant echoes? Why did looking at the photos feel like stepping back into his arms, hearing his laugh, feeling his breath against my neck again?
I shake my head hard.
This is stupid. I'm the CEO of SE Corp. I stare down investors. I shut down corporate rivals. I've stood on stages with the entire world watching.
Why is a memory stronger than all of that?
I sit on the edge of my couch, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. The leather feels cold against my skin, grounding me a little. But not enough. My chest still feels tight, stretched thin by something I can't push away.
The past isn't supposed to hurt this vividly anymore.
But right now… it feels alive.
And unbearable.
"I don't want to remember," I whisper into the stillness. "Not again."
But the condo answers with silence.
Silence—and the echo of my own heartbeat, unsteady and loud. The same tremble I had the night I left without a word.
A part of me wants to reopen the album.Another part of me wants to burn it.
Because those pages don't just hold photos—they hold promises. Touches. Words whispered in the dark. And I'm terrified of admitting how much of me still wants them.
My phone sits on the coffee table, face down, quiet. Too quiet. Lately, everything about my life has been routine—work, meetings, decisions—until Keifer walked back into my orbit like fate had been waiting for him.
Just thinking of him makes something twist in my stomach.
His eyes when he looked at me across the boardroom table.The way he said, "I found you again."The warmth of his voice, deeper now, sharper, confident in a way that makes my pulse trip.
"No," I mutter under my breath. "You can't do this. You can't fall back into this."
But the ache in my chest answers cruelly: You never stopped.
I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. Memories cling to me like static—his teasing grin, his annoying habit of kissing me whenever I cursed, his voice telling me I was his soft spot. His arms around me the night under the stars.
It all rushes back.
Too fast.Too close.Too real.
And I hate how part of me feels relief.Like seeing those memories again is like breathing after being underwater for too long.
My knees pull up to my chest, and I wrap my arms around them, staring blankly at the far wall. I've spent years perfecting control—emotionless, disciplined, untouchable.
But right now, I feel like that girl again.
Eighteen.Afraid.In love with a boy who held her heart like it was the most precious thing in the world.
My voice breaks out of me before I can stop it, soft and raw:
"Keifer… stop."
Stop lingering in my memories.Stop coming back.Stop making me feel this way.
But the truth is—he never left.
He's been in every quiet room, every lonely night, every breath I pretended was steady.
The past isn't just knocking tonight.It's inside the room, sitting beside me.
And I'm not sure I can shut the door anymore.
The apartment is silent—too silent—until it isn't.
A single vibration slices through the stillness like a blade.
Bzzzt.
I freeze.My breath stalls halfway in my chest, refusing to move. I don't reach for the phone. I don't even turn my head toward the couch where I dumped it. I stand in the middle of my living room—hands still shaky from the memories I tried so hard to bury—and tell myself it's Samy. Or Coel. Or an email. Or literally anyone who isn't—
Bzzzt.
Another one.
That's not Samy.She always sends voice notes and memes.Coel rarely texts—he calls.Work emails don't buzz in that rhythm.
Only one person has ever managed to make my phone vibrate like my pulse recognizes it.
"Not him," I whisper to no one. My throat is dry, like I swallowed dust. "Please… not him right now."
I should sit.Or breathe.Or do anything except stand here and let panic crawl under my skin.
But my legs don't move. They're cemented to the floor.
The third buzz breaks whatever thin thread of denial I was clinging to.
Slowly—very slowly—I turn my head.
The screen lights up.
My heart slams against my ribs.
Keifer.
His name glows in the dim room, bright and impossible to ignore. Like he always was. Like he still is, no matter how much distance I put between us.
For a second, I forget how to inhale.
I walk toward the couch—not because I want to, but because something drags me there. Something old and stupid and still alive.
My knees bend, and I sink into the cushions, staring at the glowing screen without unlocking it.
His message flashes.
Keifer:Jay-Jay… I'm not leaving things like this.
My lungs twist in on themselves.
I swallow. Hard.
Another message appears before I can even blink.
Keifer:I meant what I said.
My fingers curl into fists.
Damn him.
"Keifer…" I breathe out his name before I can stop myself. It slips out like muscle memory. Like the past reaching out and dragging me by the ankles.
He shouldn't affect me anymore.He shouldn't have this much power over me.Not after everything.Not after the years.Not after I built an entire empire just to convince myself I didn't need him.
So then why…Why are my hands shaking again?
I press my palms to my forehead, elbows on my knees, trying to steady myself.
Why now?Why today?Why right after I let myself fall back into those memories—those moments—those mistakes?
My voice cracks."I'm not ready for this."
I'm not ready for him.
My phone buzzes again, a softer vibration this time. Not urgent—just persistent. Like a knock on a door I'm scared to open.
I pick it up before I can stop myself.
My thumb hovers over the screen.I don't open the messages.Not yet.
But his name alone feels like a hand on my pulse.
Keifer.
The boy who used to pull me out of crowds by hooking his fingers around my wrist.The man who stares at me like he's memorizing my heartbeat.The person I ran away from because loving him was too big, too heavy, too dangerous.
I shut my eyes.
I shouldn't feel this.
The longing.The fear.The ache.
But it's there.
It's loud.
And it's growing.
"Why are you doing this to me again?" I whisper into the dark.
My apartment feels smaller. Like the walls are inching closer, tightening around me. The air is warmer too—thick, almost suffocating—as if even the atmosphere knows he's too close for comfort.
I press a hand to my chest.
Calm down.It's just a message.
But it isn't.
Nothing with Keifer is ever "just."
Because he doesn't write meaningless texts.Because he always means exactly what he says.Because every word he ever gave me—promises, warnings, declarations—he delivered with his entire soul.
And now he was here again.
Breaking the fragile quiet I tried to build around myself.
The phone buzzes one more time.
A voice message this time.
I flinch.Damn it.
I'm not ready to hear his voice.That deep, calm, unshakeable voice that always knew how to slide past my defenses. That warm, dangerous tone that knew exactly how to make me weak, even when I hated him for it.
I set the phone down on the coffee table like it's about to explode.
But I can't walk away.
I stare at it, shaking.
"Why now…" I mutter. "Why couldn't you stay away just a little longer?"
A tiny part of me—traitor—whispers:
Because you don't want him to.
I stand abruptly.
"No," I snap at myself. "No. I don't feel that anymore."
My heart doesn't believe me.
My fingers don't believe me.
My pulse definitely doesn't believe me.
I pace the room—one lap, two laps, three—trying to outrun the memories and his name and the tightness in my chest.
The photo album is still on the table beside the letters.Everything I tried to bury tonight is scattered around me like proof.
Keifer returning.Keifer messaging.Keifer refusing to leave things unresolved.
It's too much.Too fast.Too perfectly timed.
It feels almost like—
—he knew.
Keifer's POV
I watch the message stay "delivered."
Not "read."
Not "seen."
She's trying to ignore me again.
I exhale slowly, gripping my phone tighter.
"Jay-Jay…"My voice is low, frustrated, aching."You can run from me all you want. But I'm not letting you hide this time."
I type again.
You don't get to disappear on me twice.
I hit send.
And wait.
Jay-Jay's POV
The message appears.
My heart stutters.
He really typed that.He really meant that.And I know—God, I know—that he's not bluffing.
I take a step back from the couch.
Then another.
Then I bump into the wall because I'm too shaken to look where I'm going.
I close my eyes, chest rising and falling too fast.
He's close.He's watching.He's not letting this go.
And somewhere deep inside me—somewhere I don't want to admit exists—a quiet, dangerous whisper curls around my ribs:
Then stop pretending you want him to.
The moment I put my phone facedown on the sofa, I feel the air in my apartment shift—thickening, tightening, pressing against my lungs like invisible hands. I tell myself I'm fine. I tell myself to breathe. I tell myself that a single message should not have the power to shake me.
But my entire body is vibrating with the leftover echo of his name.
Keifer.
I push away the whisper in my chest and force myself to move. If I stay still, I'll think. If I think, I'll remember. And if I remember—
No. Not again.
I head straight to the bathroom, trying to convince myself a hot shower will reset me, wash him out of my mind the same way it washes away the sweat on my skin. The water hisses loudly, too loudly in the quiet apartment. It fills the small space with steam, warmth—false comfort.
I step under the stream, close my eyes, and press my forehead against the tiles.
Maybe if I stay in here long enough, everything inside me will cool down.
But the moment the heat touches my skin, all I can feel is him.
His hands—warm, sure, grounding—sliding over my arms when he used to pull me closer.His breath ghosting my cheek when he whispered my name like it was something sinful.His lips—God, his lips—soft but unapologetically firm, always claiming, always certain.
I grab the shampoo bottle too hard. My knuckles go white.
This is stupid. I shouldn't be thinking of him.
I'm the CEO of SE Corp. I do not fall apart over a man I left ten years ago.A man I swore I had buried with the rest of my past.
I inhale sharply and turn the shower colder. It shocks me, chills me, forces me to anchor myself in the present.
But even then—
I hear his voice in my head, low and teasing:
"Jay-Jay, running from me never worked. It won't work now either."
My chest twists painfully.
"Shut up," I whisper to the empty bathroom.
But the memory refuses to fade.
I step out, wrap a towel around myself, and walk to my room. Everything looks the same, perfectly organized, perfectly controlled—yet everything suddenly feels like it's betraying me.
On my bedside table sits my laptop. I tell myself checking emails will distract me, ground me back into my work, my empire, my world.
I open it.
The screen lights up.
And my heart drops.
The wallpaper—the one I forgot existed—is a group photo from Section E's last day.My younger self smiling.Freya, Edrix, Honey, Percy—everyone huddled close.And Keifer—
Standing behind me.
Hand on my shoulder.
Looking at the camera, yet somehow still looking at me.
I slam the laptop shut so hard the sound bounces through the room.
"No," I breathe out. "Not now."
I walk to the kitchen, restless, desperate for anything to anchor myself. I reach for the jar of coffee grounds, thinking the smell might calm me.
The moment I twist the lid open, the scent hits me like a memory to the chest.
Keifer's morning coffee.
The one he always made extra strong.The one he handed to me with that tiny smirk.The one he said was "so you won't fall asleep in class and make me drag you out again."
I grip the counter so hard my palms sting.
Why does everything—every scent, every sound, every corner of this apartment—feel like it's tied to him all of a sudden?
I step back, breathing too quickly. My body is reacting before my mind can catch up, as if the past decade didn't exist. As if the girl I used to be is clawing her way out of me.
I force myself out of the kitchen, but when I reach the living room, my fingers brush against something on my neck. Something familiar.
My necklace.
The thin chain.The tiny charm.
The one he gave me when I was seventeen.
I didn't even realize I still wore it tonight.
"Oh god…" My voice cracks. "Why am I doing this to myself?"
Why am I still holding onto things I should have thrown away years ago?
Why am I still reading his letters?
Why do I still have the ring?
Why does a single message from him crack open the armor I spent a decade building?
Why does it hurt this much?
I sink onto the couch, burying my face in my hands.
The storm inside me swells—fast, heavy, impossible to contain. This isn't just memory. It isn't nostalgia. It isn't weakness.
It's him.
It's always him.
His hands on my waist when he dragged me away from fights.His voice calling my name like it meant something.The way he kissed me whenever I cursed—ridiculous, unfair, addictive.The way he looked at me like he knew every inch of my heart and wasn't afraid of any of it.
I thought time would kill it.
I thought distance would bury it.
I thought becoming Jay-Jay, the CEO, the woman who built an empire, would erase Jay—the girl who belonged to him so completely it scared her.
But right now?
It feels like the girl he loved is clawing her way to the surface.
And there's one thought I can't shake.
If I fall again, I won't survive losing him twice.
The realization makes my throat tighten painfully.
I grab my phone, meaning to delete his message—wipe it away before I can even think of responding.
But when I unlock the screen, the message glows like it's staring straight into me.
Keifer:Jay-Jay… I'm not leaving things like this.
My thumb hovers over the delete button.
But I can't.
I can't delete it.
I can't delete him.
The room feels darker now, the night heavier, the silence louder.
"Why now…" I whisper. "Why did you come back now?"
I set the phone down gently—almost reverently—and lean back against the couch.
No matter how hard I try to outrun this storm…
It's already inside me.
And it has Keifer's voice.
The apartment is too quiet again.
Too still.
Too aware.
I sit on the edge of my couch, knees pulled close, staring at the message I still haven't opened. The one that sits on my lock screen like a pulse I can't shut out.
Keifer: I'm not leaving things like this.
My breath drags in slowly, shakily. I press the heel of my palm over my heart, willing it to stop hurting—stop reacting—stop remembering.
But it answers me in the same rhythm it used to when I was eighteen.
Too fast.Too loud.Too his.
The city outside darkens, lights blinking on through my windows. Somewhere down the street, a car honks. Someone laughs. Someone argues. Life moves. Life continues.
But inside my apartment?
Everything has stopped.
I stand up, pacing, trying to let the movement quiet my head. It doesn't. It just stirs everything up even more.
Why now?Why tonight?Why did he text exactly when the memories broke me open?
Almost as if he knew.
No.No, he couldn't know.He shouldn't know.
I place the photo album back on the coffee table, but my hand won't leave it. My fingers stay on the cover, gripping it, as if holding the past in place will stop it from bleeding out.
"Enough," I whisper to myself. "You're fine. You're okay. This is nothing."
A lie.A pathetic one.
I close my eyes—just for a second—to breathe.
And then it happens.
Knock.
Soft.Deliberate.Slow.
My eyes snap open.
I freeze.
Another knock follows, the same patient rhythm. Not urgent. Not panicked. Not hesitant.
A knock with confidence.With certainty.With claim.
Every hair on my arms rises.
No.No, no, no.
Not him.Not here.
Please not him.
My breath catches, refusing to move. The air becomes thicker, heavier—the world shrinking into a tunnel that leads only to the front door.
Coel never knocks like that.Samy never knocks like that.Even deliveries knock louder, faster, messier.
This knock is gentle in the way a hand at the back of your neck is gentle—possessive without needing pressure.
"Jay-Jay."
His voice.
His voice.
My knees almost buckle.
It's him.
It's actually him.
I grip the edge of the couch until my knuckles burn white. My heart punches against my ribcage like it's trying to get to him faster.
"Open the door."
His voice is low. Controlled. Quiet enough that the walls catch it, soften it—but I hear every syllable like it's pressed to my ear.
He sounds calm.
Which means he's not calm at all.
Not when it comes to me.
My mouth parts, but no sound comes out. My throat is a knot I can't untangle. Suddenly my apartment feels too small, too warm, too full of the memory of his hands on my waist, of his breath at my neck, of his lips—God, his lips.
Why is he here?
Why tonight?
Why when I'm falling apart?
I take one slow step toward the door.
Then another.
My heartbeat syncs with my footsteps—uneven, frantic, helpless.
I stop halfway across the living room. My feet won't move.
Because I know what will happen if I open that door.
I know how he looks at me—like I'm the only thing that has ever made sense in his entire life.
I know how he touches me—deliberate, slow, reverent, like touching me is a privilege and a right at the same time.
And I know how he kisses me—especially when he's frustrated. Especially when he's been waiting. Especially when he feels like I'm slipping away.
A shiver runs through me so violently I have to hug myself.
Another soft knock.
"Jay-Jay," he murmurs through the wood, and the way he says my name—my nickname—my everything—it destroys me.
He sounds closer now. Somehow deeper. As if he's leaning forward, forehead to the door.
As if he can feel me standing here.
As if he knows I'm listening.
"Don't make me wait out here," he says quietly. Not a threat. A truth. A promise. Something dangerously in between.
My breath stutters.
He always hated waiting when it came to me.
He never waited.
Not for a smile.Not for a hug.Not for a kiss—especially not for a kiss.
Keifer always took the moment he wanted and made it his.
My fingertips brush the doorknob without me noticing.
Cold metal.Warm skin.
I gasp and pull my hand back like it burned me.
I can't open this door.I shouldn't.
If I see him—If he looks at me—If he touches me—If he kisses me—
I will fall.
I know it.He knows it.That's why he's here.
I step back, chest tight, breath shaking.
His shadow shifts under the door. Slow. Heavy. Waiting.
I close my eyes, trying to breathe.
But I can't.
Because the air tastes like him now.
The moment is too close.Too dangerous.Too inevitable.
"Jay-Jay," he says again—soft, patient, devastating.
I choke on the breath I was trying to hold.
My hand lifts again.
It hovers inches from the doorknob.
So close.
So stupidly close.
But I can't touch it.
Not yet.
Not when my heart is a mess of fear and longing and memories I buried ten years ago.
Not when he still has the power to break me.
Or save me.
Or both.
The last thing I hear is his breath on the other side of the door—quiet, steady, waiting for me.
And my hand trembles in the empty space between us, suspended in a choice I'm terrified to make.
I reach for the doorknob…but my fingers never touch it.
I don't move.I don't breathe.The only thing alive in this apartment is the echo of his voice sliding under the door, smooth and steady like he owns the air I'm breathing.
"Jay-Jay… open the door."
My fingers curl into fists before I even realize it. My chest tightens, too full, too loud. It feels like my heart has recognized him before my mind has caught up.
I shouldn't be surprised he came.
Keifer has always been the type of man who shows up.Uninvited.Unexpected.Unavoidable.
But hearing him again—right here, outside my home—makes the floor tilt.
I press a hand to my mouth as if I can muffle the entire storm inside me.
Another soft knock.Measured.Controlled.
Not a stranger's knock.Not a friend's knock.
His knock.
I take a single step toward the door before freezing, my breath caught somewhere painful between my ribs.
"Don't," I whisper to myself. "Don't go to him."
But my body remembers him better than I remember myself.
I lean my forehead against the wall beside the door, not brave enough to be directly in front of it. My heartbeat thrashes, wild and terrified. Ten years of distance. Ten years of silence. Ten years of running.
And somehow… he still found me.
He always does.
My throat closes when his voice comes again—quiet… too quiet.
"I know you're awake."The words slip through the crack under the door and shatter every fragile defense I have left.
He knows me.He still knows me.
My eyes burn.
"I know you read my message," he adds, tone frustratingly calm. "You always read my messages."
A broken sound leaves my lips. I slap a hand over my mouth instantly.
No.No.He can't hear me cry. Not again. Not like before.
But of course—this is Keifer.
He probably already knows.
I hate that my knees weaken.I hate that my hands shake.I hate that my body still responds to him like he is some gravity I was born tethered to.
"Keifer…" The whisper slips out before I can swallow it. "Please… don't do this."
I hear him exhale on the other side. Not angry. Not annoyed. Something worse—hurt.
He never hides that sound from me.
"Sweetheart," he says softly, "you can run from the past… but don't run from me."
My lungs collapse.
Sweetheart.
No one else is allowed to call me that.Not then.Not now.Not ever.
I press my palm to the door. My fingers tremble. My tears slip down before I can stop them.
It's not fair.He doesn't play fair.He never did.
"Keifer… please don't make this harder," I whisper, voice cracking in the middle.
A beat of silence.
Then—
"Then open the door."
My breath hitches. I squeeze my eyes shut. I can almost imagine him—standing straight, hands in his pockets, jaw clenched, eyes dark and unblinking. Waiting.
Always waiting for me.
But I can't move.
My forehead slowly drops against the wood.A barrier.A shield.A weak, thin line between us.
If I open this door…If I see him again…Everything I buried will claw itself back to life.
And I don't know if I can survive that.
I swallow hard, tears wetting the wood."Keifer… I can't."
His voice drops to a whisper that slides right into my chest.
"You can."
And somehow… I hate that he believes in me more than I do.
Keifer's POV
I knew she wouldn't open the door.
Jay-Jay never opens when she's scared.
She freezes.She hides.She folds into herself in this heartbreaking, stubborn way that makes me want to tear the whole damn world apart just to make her feel safe again.
I lean one shoulder against the doorframe, hands still tucked into my pockets. I force my breathing to stay steady. If I sound frustrated, she will shut down. If I sound demanding, she'll run.
If I sound like the man who lost her once…
…I'll lose her again.
"Jay-Jay," I say quietly, letting her name melt on my tongue. "I'm not leaving."
Silence on the other side.Heavy.Shaking.Her silence is something I feel, not hear.
I picture her—eyes red, hand over her mouth, trying not to break.
My own chest aches.
She always thinks she hides well. She never did. Not from me.
"You're crying," I say softly, because I know she is. "Please don't cry alone."
There's a soft thud—her forehead hitting the door.
My jaw tightens.
I hate this door.I hate every barrier between us.I hate the years I wasn't there to stop this pain from growing into something that still eats her alive.
"Sweetheart," I murmur, letting the word come out warm, slow… only for her. "Open the door."
But her breath catches—a tiny, broken inhale I hear even through the wood.
She's trying.
God, she's trying so hard not to feel this.
I close my eyes and rest my palm on the door, my hand almost covering the shape of hers on the opposite side.
She doesn't know how close I am.
She doesn't know how much I've missed her.
But she will.
I whisper, firm but gentle, "I'm right here."
And I wait.
I'll wait as long as she needs.
Because she's the only person in this entire world I have patience for.
The only person I'd break rules for.
The only person I'd break myself for.
Jay-Jay's POV
I stand there, body trembling, forehead against the door, tears sliding down my cheeks as his warmth bleeds through the wood and brushes against mine.
I want to open it.I am terrified to open it.
My hand lifts—
But stops one inch away.
I'm shaking too hard.
"Keifer…" I whisper, voice so small even I barely hear it. "I don't know if I can do this."
His answer comes instantly.
"I'll help you."A breath."Just open the door."
My fingers hover in the air.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Three.
I don't touch the handle.
Not yet.
But I stay there.
Listening.
Breaking.
Wanting.
And that… is enough to shatter the night.