Seven Years of Love Seven Minutes of Truth novel Chapter 85

Chapter 15 

The hallway was dim, narrow, and heavy with the scent of rain. Faint droplets tapped against the windows, the muffled hum of water slipping through cracks in the pavement outside filling the silence between us. 

1 froze. 

For a brief, breathless moment, I thought this was it. 

The moment the truth would slip out. 

That Pax would finally piece everything together. 

That my plans to leave would be dragged into the open, no longer something I could quietly pack away with the rest of my belongings. 

But instead- 

He smiled. 

“Of course we are.” 

His certainty was effortless, unwavering. 

He thought she was talking about Norway. 

Relief flooded through me, but it came tangled with something heavier–something I didn’t want to name. 

The girl parted her lips, as if she wanted to say more, but her boyfriend–quicker, sharper–seemed to sense the sudden shift in the air. 

He grabbed her hand lightly, pulling her back, offering a quick, polite farewell before leading her away. 

And just like that, the moment passed. 

The silence stretched again, this time thinner, more fragile. 

Pax had originally planned for me to move into his place tonight. 

But I was exhausted. 

“Let’s wait until we get back from Norway,” I said, my voice careful, steady. 

He hesitated, lingering at my doorstep as if searching for a reason to stay. 

Then, as if conceding to an unseen compromise, he tried again. 

“Then at least have dinner with me tonight?” 

Chapter 15 

I opened my mouth to refuse, but he cut me off before I could speak. 

“Cecilia, if you’re still angry, hit me, yell at me, do whatever you want.” 

His voice was quieter now, rough at the edges, like he wasn’t used to speaking this way–like he wasn’t used to pleading 

“Just 

don’t be like this. Don’t be so cold.” 

1 looked at him then, really looked at him. 

The slight dishevelment in his normally composed appearance. 

The exhaustion beneath his eyes, the kind that lingered after sleepless nights. 

The way his shoulders slumped just a little, as if carrying something heavier than he knew how to bear. 

I clenched my fingers tighter, nails digging into my palm. 

Pain. 

Sharp and relentless, an ache lodged deep beneath my ribs. 

Two years. 

Two years of real, honest feelings. 

-Thad loved him. 

Maybe, in some small, quiet way, I still did. 

But I also knew that time had a way of dulling wounds, of smoothing out the sharp edges of heartbreak. 

If I could endure this pain for just a little longer