While Kyle is being attended to, I seize the moment to FaceTime Amrita and tell her everything.

"Hey, stop crying, okay?" she says gently.
I sniffle, trying to steady my breath.

"He's being attended to right now... Are you going to wait for him?" She asks.
"That's the right thing to do...I think." I say.
"Of course it is." She says.
"What do I do about all this talk of him wanting me back?" My voice trembles.

"Are you willing to end your marriage to get back with Kyle? He's married too, you know. Think of everyone who'd be hurt by that decision." She says
"I'm scared, Amy... I love Kyle, I know I do." I sigh
"Oh darling, I wish I were there with you." She says
"Don't worry. The Nurse is here—I'll call you later."
"Okay, bye."

I end the call and turn to the Nurse.

"Is he okay now?" I ask, voice small with worry.

"Yes, he's fine. We've stitched him up, and he should be out any second."
"Thank you."
Then, unexpectedly, he asks, "Are you his wife or a relative?"
I hesitate. My heart stumbles over the thought—do I confess the truth about our past, or hide it?
"Uh... I'm a close friend," I lie, swallowing hard.

"Alright. I just wanted to explain some post-care instructions." The Nurse's tone is calm, clinical. "He shouldn't lift anything heavy or do any strenuous activities for a while. And here's his medication for pain—he can take it once the analgesic effect wears off."
"Thank you, Nurse." I say
"Ah, here he comes."

I watch as Kyle strolls back in, a pair of neatly wrapped bandages on his stitched hand. Despite his injury, he seems untroubled—as if pain is nothing new to him. That only deepens my worry.

"Hey," he says simply.
"Hey," I reply, my voice betraying more than I'd like.

"We should get going. I've got your meds," he adds, his tone matter-of-fact.
We walk to my car in silence. During the ride, the weight of the past and the uncertainty of now mingle in the quiet hum of the engine.

At his flat, I try to create normalcy by making us some food. We eat in silence until a question finally breaks through.
"How's Carol?" I ask, trying for lightness.
"She should be fine," he replies dryly.
"Why isn't she here with you?" I persist.
He exhales, annoyed. "Because she's not my damn shadow."
"She's your wife, Kyle!" I exclaim, disbelief mingling with frustration.
"Only on paper," he shrugs nonchalantly.
"Then why did you marry her if you don't love her?"
He pauses, then murmurs, "I needed something she had."
My heart twists. "You know what? I'm leaving."
Before I can walk out of his apartment, I feel a hand grip my arm. I turn—it's Kyle, his bandaged hand surprisingly tender as he holds me.
"Kyle, stop! You're going to open the stitches," I warn, panic rising.

Without a word, he pulls me back inside and shuts the door behind us. The tension is thick as he lifts me against it, and then, almost in defiance of everything, he kisses me with an intensity that makes the world blur.
In that moment, my mind floods with memories of a decade past. I can't help but notice that my dress rides up to mid-thigh, exposing more than I intended. His fingers begin to explore—gentle at first, then growing bolder—and I feel every nerve in my body awaken.

I try to let the moment wash over me, I think, trying to focus on the raw desire rather than the consequences.
His touch is relentless: one finger slips beneath my panties, then another joins in, building a rhythm that mirrors the pounding of my heart.
"Kyle...," I moan, each syllable a mix of longing and fear.

For a breathless moment, time stands still as he commands, "Say my name out loud!"
I do, my voice raw with need. Instantly, a surge of ecstasy overtakes me.
Even as I cry out in pleasure, he deepens his thrusts, his body moving with an urgent, almost desperate precision.
The sound of skin against skin, the mingling sweat, the relentless pace—all of it fills the room until it seems like nothing else exists.

Minutes later, we collapse together. Between ragged breaths, he murmurs,
"I'm unable to get over you, Juney... Please don't leave me. You're my lifeline—the only thing that makes sense in my life. I still love you so much."
He presses a gentle kiss to my hair, and I feel tears prick the back of my eyes. My heart constricts with a mix of pleasure, regret, and fear.

"I need you," he whispers.
And for a long moment, I lie there, caught between the fierce longing for a past that never truly died and the present that demands consequences.

I close my eyes, choosing to pretend sleep has taken me, even as I know every word, every touch, will haunt the coming days.

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