His sincerity hits me like a tidal wave, and for a moment, I consider letting it all spill out—the anger, the heartbreak, the mess I've been drowning in. But fear freezes the words in my throat. I can't let him see that part of me, still bleeding from wounds I've hidden beneath smiles and casual conversation. I want to believe him. God, I want to so badly it physically aches.

But how can I? After that night? The night I called him, desperate, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped my phone. I needed him and he wasn't there.

Instead, he was with her.

Farrah.

Her voice still cuts through my memories, cool and dismissive. "Nate's busy," she'd said, the words dripping with disdain. Like I was nothing. Like my whole world wasn't shattering around me.

"I appreciate you checking on me," I say instead, forcing a smile that feels like porcelain about to crack. "But I'm good, really. I just need to sleep."

He stands reluctantly, like he's surrendering a battle but not the war. At the door, he turns back, his eyes soft yet piercing as starlight.

"For what it's worth," he says, voice barely above a whisper, rough with something that sounds dangerously like longing, "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," I manage, forcing the words out like pushing through thorns. It's not the whole truth, but it's all I can offer without crumbling.

"Goodnight, Leni." The nickname falls from his lips.

"Goodnight," I whisper back, and he closes the door softly behind him, the click of the latch sounding final as a period at the end of a sentence.

Alone again, I collapse against my pillows like a puppet with cut strings. I wonder how long I can keep pretending that the cracks in my foundation aren't spreading like spider webs across glass. Being invisible has become my shield against a world that feels too sharp, too dangerous. But invisibility can't last forever—I know that truth like I know my own reflection.

22. Pieces Of A Puzzle

CHAPTER 22

PIECES OF A PUZZLE

NORA

It's been a few days since the carnival, and the tension between Nate and me has started to dissipate. The awkward pauses are becoming rare, giving way to the easy talks we used to have. Things feel lighter now, almost hopeful.

Needing a change of scenery, I grab my laptop and head to Corrigan's Bakery. The moment I push open the door, the aroma of fresh coffee and vanilla envelops me. The comforting murmur of conversation fills the space, and the familiar tinkle of the bell above the door welcomes me in. I spot a cozy table by the window where sunlight pools on worn wood.

I've been here for hours, alternating between typing furiously and people-watching, with coffee as my steady companion. The afternoon light has shifted to gold when a familiar voice cuts through the café's gentle buzz.

"Nora?"