and this trip was his way of trying to rewrite old stories. I was just a passenger in someone else’s memory.
At a quiet waterfall, everything changed. I saw the carved heart on a tree — Clay’s and Megan’s names.
“This wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he said, his voice breaking. He confessed he wasn’t over her;
I was only filling the space she once held. The realization crushed me, but I still whispered the words I’d held back: “I love you.”
He didn’t say it back — not at first. I walked away, the weight of his silence heavy on my chest.
Then, barefoot and breathless, he called me back, confessing the truth: “I love you. You’re real.” His forehead against mine, I finally