It happened on a quiet evening, the kind that felt suspended between seasons.
Issa was sitting alone on the school steps, backpack at her feet, watching the sky soften into shades of pink and gray. She hadn't planned to stay late. She just hadn't planned to leave.
"Hey."
She didn't have to turn around to know it was Max.
"Issa," he said again, closer now, careful, like he was approaching something fragile. "Can we talk? Please."
She exhaled slowly and nodded, scooting over to make space beside her. He sat down, leaving a small gap between them—one that said everything about how things had changed.
"I've been meaning to say this," he began, staring straight ahead. "I just… didn't know how."
She wrapped her arms around herself. "You don't have to."
"I do," he said quietly. "Because I think if I don't, I'll regret it forever."
That made her look at him.
His expression was different—stripped of the easy confidence she'd always known. Vulnerable. Uncertain.
"I didn't realize how much you were holding back," Max said. "I thought you were just… strong. That you were okay being there for me like that."
Issa let out a soft, almost broken laugh. "I wasn't strong. I was scared."
"Scared of what?"
"Of losing you," she admitted. "Of saying something and ruining everything. So I stayed quiet. I made myself small."
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "I never wanted you to feel small."
"I know," she said. "That's what makes it hurt."
The silence between them stretched, heavy but honest.
"Issa," Max said, turning fully toward her now. "I think I always knew. Somewhere. I just didn't want to look at it too closely."
Her heart clenched. "Then why are you here?"
"Because I miss you," he said. "Because when you pulled away, I realized how much space you filled in my life. And because I need you to know that what we had—what you gave me—was real."
Her eyes stung. "That doesn't change how it ended."
"No," he admitted. "But it changes how I carry it."
He hesitated, then reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away. She didn't.
His hand covered hers, warm and familiar, sending a quiet ache through her chest.
"I loved you," Issa said, the words barely above a whisper. Saying them out loud felt like exhaling after holding her breath for years.
Max's eyes softened. "I know."
Something about that—about being seen at last—undid her.
She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder. He froze for half a second, then relaxed, resting his cheek against her hair. They stayed like that, breathing in sync, close enough to feel the truth of what they could never fix.
"I'm glad you told me," he murmured.
"So am I," she said. And she meant it.
They didn't kiss. They didn't need to.
When they finally pulled apart, the space between them felt gentler—no longer filled with unanswered questions, just quiet understanding.
As Issa stood to leave, Max reached for her hand one last time.
"Goodbye," he said.
She squeezed his fingers softly. "Goodbye."
And for the first time, it didn't feel unfinished.
The night settled around them as she walked away, heart aching—but lighter.
Some loves don't last.
But they still leave you changed.
Fade to black.