We Were Never Over

They called it the end. It was only the beginning.

“I can’t believe they chose you,” I said, my voice cutting through the tension between us. He didn’t even look surprised. Just leaned back slightly, calm in a way that made me want to ruin it. “Oh, so you think I had a say in this? Marrying you was the last thing on my mind.” A lie, I thought. Or maybe I just wanted it to be. “Good,” I shot back, stepping closer without thinking. “Because I don’t plan on making this easy for you either.” That finally got his attention. His eyes lifted to mine — slow, deliberate — like I was something he was reconsidering. “You won’t,” he said quietly. “You never do.” My breath caught. Because that wasn’t new information. That sounded like history. Like something I had forgotten… and he hadn’t. Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until he stood. The distance between us disappeared too fast, too suddenly, like he had decided space wasn’t necessary anymore. “You act like this is a fresh start,” he murmured. “Like we’re strangers.” I swallowed. “Aren’t we?” A faint smile tugged at his mouth — not warm. Not kind. Something sharper. “We were never over,” he said simply. My pulse stuttered. “That’s impossible,” I whispered, though it didn’t sound like I meant it. He tilted his head slightly, eyes darkening like the memory of something I couldn’t reach. “Is it?” he asked. “Or did you just get better at lying to yourself?” The air between us shifted — thinner, tighter, dangerous. Because the worst part wasn’t the marriage. It wasn’t the past. It was the way my body reacted like it already remembered him. Like it had never stopped.