chapter 67: return

Mika POV:

Five hours.

In five hours, I was going to marry Andrew.

I should've been focusing on that—on the gravity of it, on the fact that I was about to say "I do" and make this whole thing official. But instead, I was standing on my tiptoes, cursing under my breath because some genius had decided to put the last string of lights just out of my reach.

"Come on," I muttered, stretching as much as I could. My fingertips barely brushed the wire. "Almost—ugh."

Then, out of nowhere, strong hands grabbed my waist.

I yelped as I was lifted slightly, and in a smooth motion, the lights were plucked from my hand. The familiar scent of sandalwood and citrus filled my senses, and I immediately knew who it was.

"You could've just asked for help, you know," Andrew murmured against my ear, his voice carrying that amused lilt I knew too well.

I turned my head slightly, and sure enough, there he was—standing right behind me, wearing a brown leather jacket that smelled exactly like him, his arms still loosely wrapped around my waist.

I rolled my eyes. "I was handling it."

He chuckled, placing the lights where they were supposed to go before finally letting go of me. "Sure you were."

I turned fully to face him, crossing my arms. "Aren't you supposed to be doing something important?"

Andrew blinked at me. "Like what?"

"The cake, Andrew," I said, exasperated. "You were supposed to get the cake."

His expression shifted, like the realization had just hit him. "...Oh."

"Oh?!" I nearly smacked his arm. "Andrew!"

"I got distracted," he said, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

I narrowed my eyes. "By what?"

His grin widened, and he leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice. "By you."

I stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Last night," he continued, his tone way too smug. "You were showing me all the corners of what heaven feels like, and honestly—"

Before he could finish that sentence, I smacked his arm. Hard.

"Shut up."

Andrew winced but laughed anyway, rubbing the spot where I hit him. "Okay, okay, but I'm not wrong."

I shot him a warning glare, but he just smirked.

"Anyway," he added, "after you finally let me sleep, I still had some last-minute work to finish."

I groaned, shaking my head. "You continued to work after we...?!"

Andrew grinned and reached for my hands, pulling me closer. "Yes, but relax. I'll go now."

"You better."

He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. "You'll thank me later."

"For what? Forgetting the cake?"

"For marrying me."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already walking off, throwing me a wink over his shoulder.

And even though he was absolutely insufferable sometimes, I couldn't help but smile.

Blaise POV:

I woke up to the feeling of warmth.

The kind of warmth that wasn't just from the blankets but from the body beside me—Miles. His arm was draped lazily over my waist, his steady breathing tickling the back of my neck.

I blinked at the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, still caught in that drowsy state between sleep and wakefulness. My body ached in the best way possible, and for a moment, I just lay there, enjoying the quiet.

Then, as I tried to move, Miles tightened his hold on me.

"Oh no," he murmured sleepily against my shoulder. "You're not escaping again."

I let out a quiet laugh. "I wasn't escaping."

"Mm-hm," he hummed, pulling me back into him.

I turned onto my back, finally facing him. His braids were slightly messy from sleep, his bare chest warm against my skin. He blinked at me, still half-asleep, but there was something lazy and soft in the way he was looking at me.

"So," he said after a moment. "Are we finally going to talk about this?"

I raised a brow. "Talk about what?"

He gave me a look. "About the fact that we're basically dating but haven't actually said it out loud."

I blinked. "We haven't?"

Miles scoffed. "No, we haven't. And before you start laughing at me—"

I laughed.

"Of course you are," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

I grinned, shaking my head. "Miles, we've been acting like a couple for months. What do you mean we weren't officially dating?"

"I needed the confirmation."

I laughed harder, and he groaned. "You're so childish."

"You're ridiculous."

"Fine. Then let's make it official," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Blaise, will you be my girlfriend?"

I smirked. "I'll think about it."

His eyes narrowed, and before I could react, he rolled on top of me, pinning me down with his weight. "Try again."

I let out a dramatic sigh. "Fine. Yes, Miles, I'll be your girlfriend."

He grinned. "Good answer."

We lay there for a while, just looking at each other, the teasing fading into something softer, something real. His thumb brushed over my cheek, and for a second, I wondered how the hell we even got here.

Then, as if reading my mind, he said, "You're coming to Andrew and Mika's wedding today, right?"

I made a face. "Are you?"

"Obviously."

"Then I guess I have no choice."

Miles smirked. "Oh, you have a choice. You just love me too much to say no."

I rolled my eyes. "You're lucky you're cute."

He grinned, leaning down until his lips barely brushed mine. "I know."

Chapa POV:

I wasn't in the mood for this.

The whole wedding, the flowers, the music, the laughter—it should've made me happy, but I felt out of place. Like I was floating somewhere outside of myself, watching everyone else celebrate while I sat there, stiff in my chair.

I glanced around, my eyes landing on the girl sitting next to me—Sissy, one of Mika's old friends. She was chatting excitedly with someone across from her, barely noticing me. On my other side sat a little kid, probably a cousin or something, swinging her legs and humming a song.

Then the music changed. The murmurs hushed.

I looked up.

Mika was walking down the aisle.

And Andrew, the way he looked at her. Like he'd just seen an angel descend from heaven, like nothing else in the world existed. His jaw was slightly open, his eyes soft and full of something so deep it almost hurt to witness.

I swallowed.

"Why do you look so sad?"

I blinked and turned my head. The little girl next to me was staring up at me with big, curious eyes.

I ignored her.

"You look really sad," she said again, swinging her legs.

I sighed. "I'm fine."

She tilted her head. "Is it about a boy?"

My breath hitched for a second. I hesitated, then let out a small, bitter laugh. "Yeah. Something like that."

She didn't say anything, just kept looking at me like she was waiting for me to go on.

I sighed. "I had this... close person. We were really close. And then one day, he left."

"Why?"

"He had to."

The girl frowned. "Did he say goodbye?"

"Sort of." My voice was quieter now. "Not really."

She wrinkled her nose. "That's mean."

I let out another small laugh, shaking my head. "It wasn't his fault. He didn't know it would be a goodbye like that."

"Do you miss him?"

I swallowed, looking down at my hands. "Yeah."

The little girl hummed in thought. "Maybe he misses you too."

I turned my head, looking at her. She just gave me a little shrug like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Maybe," I murmured.

—

The party was loud. People were dancing, drinking, laughing. I stood with Blaise and Miles near the edge of the crowd, sipping my drink, not really paying attention.

We talked for a while, but after a couple of hours, Miles turned to me.

"Come on," he said, nodding toward the dance floor and then Blaise. "Chapa will you come as well?"

I shook my head. "I'm good."

"Oh, come on, you used to dance all the time."

I let out a small, dry laugh. "With Bose, yeah."

The words slipped out before I could stop them, and for a second, Miles just looked at me. Then he sighed and didn't push it.

I needed air.

I set my drink down and walked outside. The cool night air hit me instantly, and I let out a breath, staring up at the sky.

I wasn't going to cry.

But then, a single tear slipped down my cheek.

I wiped it away quickly, shaking my head. I needed to get a grip. It had been a year and a half. He was gone.

I turned to leave—

And then I froze.

Because there, standing a few feet away from me, looking just as stunned as I felt—

Was Bose.

I blinked, my mind struggling to catch up. I had imagined this moment so many times, had dreamed of it, had convinced myself it would never actually happen anytime soon—and yet, here he was, real and standing a few feet away from me.

His hair was shorter, the curls cropped neatly at his head, and somehow, it made him look older. He looked different, sharper, like time had molded him into something new. And God, he looked good. It was almost unfair.

My breath hitched, and before I could stop myself, I burst into tears.

"Chapa—"

"No," I choked out, shaking my head furiously as I backed up. "No, you don't get to—" My voice cracked, and I pressed a hand against my mouth, trying to hold myself together.

Bose took a careful step toward me, his face filled with guilt. "Chapa, I—"

"Don't." My voice was sharp, but my hands were shaking. "You were gone for a year and a half, Bose. Do you have any idea what that did to me? What that did to your mom?"

He swallowed hard. "I know."

"No, you don't!" I snapped, my vision blurred with tears. "You left. You left, and you didn't tell me when you were coming back. You barely even contacted me. Do you know how much I waited? How much I hated you for making me wait?" My chest heaved as I exhaled sharply. "I thought about you every single day. Every. Single. Day. And you just—" I shook my head, my voice breaking. "You just stayed gone."

Bose ran a hand through his short hair, exhaling shakily. "I wanted to come back sooner, I swear. But my dad—he needed me, Chapa."

"I needed you." My voice was barely above a whisper.

Pain flickered across his face. "I know."

I swallowed hard, my vision blurred with tears. "And I hate the fact that I can't even blame you for it," I admitted. "I hate that I understand why you left, why you had to do it. But it still hurts, Bose. It still really, really hurts."

He looked devastated. His hands clenched at his sides like he wanted to reach for me but didn't dare. "I know," he murmured. "And I hate that I made you feel that way. I hate that I wasn't there for you."

I let out a shaky breath, my emotions still raw. "I need to think," I muttered, stepping away. "I need some space."

Bose nodded, though his eyes were full of something—relief? Hope? "I understand." He hesitated before adding softly, "But... I'm really happy to see you."

I stopped in my tracks. For a second, I didn't say anything. Then, barely above a whisper, I asked, "How's your dad?"

Bose hesitated before answering. "He's better. And...I want you to meet him. Now."

I glanced at him, hesitating.

Then, after a long moment, I nodded.

The drive was silent.

Neither of us spoke, the tension thick between us. Bose kept glancing at me like he wanted to say something, but I stared out the window, lost in my own thoughts. My heart was still racing, my body still trembling from everything that had just happened.

"Where are we going?" I finally asked, breaking the silence.

"My mom's," he said simply, eyes still on the road.

That made me pause. I turned to look at him properly, trying to gauge his expression. "Did they already meet?"

"Yeah," he said, glancing at me quickly before looking back at the road. "He wanted to meet up with my mom, and I figured... well, you should meet him too."

I sat back in my seat, letting that sink in. Bose's actual father. The man he had left everything behind for. I felt an odd mixture of curiosity and unease. A part of me wanted to ask more, but I didn't know if I was ready to hear the answers. Instead, my thoughts drifted to Celia's husband—Bose's stepdad. Would he know about this? But I decided to keep that to myself.

The rest of the drive was silent, but this time it didn't feel as suffocating. Maybe because I was too distracted by the nerves crawling up my spine. Meeting Bose's real dad? I hadn't even processed Bose being back, and now I was supposed to meet the man he had sacrificed everything for?

When we pulled up to his mom's house, my heart was pounding. The warm glow of the porch light illuminated the front yard, and I could see two figures standing inside through the large windows. Bose's mother... and a man I instantly knew was his father.

The resemblance was undeniable. Same sharp features, same deep brown eyes. His hair was shorter, streaked with silver, but the way he held himself—it was like looking at an older version of Bose. And he was hugging Celia. Not just a casual hug, but a long, emotional embrace, like they were holding on to something they had lost for years.

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like an intruder.

Bose parked and got out, coming around to my side to open the door. I hesitated, my fingers gripping the seatbelt before I finally forced myself to move. As we approached the house, his mom noticed us first. She pulled away from the man, wiping her eyes before offering me a soft smile.

"Chapa, sweetheart," she greeted warmly. "It's good to see you."

I nodded, forcing a small smile back, but my focus was on the man standing beside her. He was watching me with quiet curiosity, taking me in just as much as I was studying him.

Bose cleared his throat, stepping beside me. "Dad," he said, his voice steady. "This is Chapa."

His father's face softened. "Ah, the girl you couldn't stop talking about," he said, with his accent. There was warmth in his tone, a familiarity like he already knew me somehow. He extended a hand. "I'm Rafaelle."

I stared for a second before quickly shaking his hand. "Chapa," I said, though he already knew that. My voice came out quieter than I expected.

Rafaelle smiled at me, then looked at Bose. "She's pretty."

I blinked. My face felt oddly warm, and I could already feel Bose grinning beside me.

"She is," Bose agreed, making my stomach flip.

"Come inside," his mom said, ushering us in. "You two must be freezing."

—

The silence between us was heavy. The drive back had been quiet, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on both of us. His dad was nice, looked healthy. I was glad. When we arrived at his penthouse, I just walked straight in and muttered, "I'm going to bed."

Bose didn't say anything. He just nodded. Maybe he knew I needed space. Maybe he didn't know what to say either. I went into the bedroom, and crawled into bed. I turned to my side, facing away from the door, and stared at nothing. My mind was running a marathon I didn't sign up for.

Five minutes passed. Maybe more. I wasn't counting.

Then I felt it—movement. The bed shifted slightly, and suddenly, he was there. Bose. Lying next to me. My back was to him, and I knew he was facing me, but I couldn't turn around. I didn't know if I wanted to.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep it together, but my body betrayed me. Just one tear. One single, stupid tear slipped down my cheek.

And then I made the mistake. I let out that sound. That quiet, pathetic little noise that gave me away.

Bose heard it. I knew because a second later, his voice came, quiet but certain. "Chapa... are you okay?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I felt his presence so close behind me, waiting.

And then—warmth. A slow, careful movement. His arm wrapped around me, his chest pressing lightly against my back. He was holding me.

I didn't move. I didn't say anything. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. But I didn't pull away. I just let him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. "I know I keep saying it, but I mean it. I never wanted to hurt you."

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. I hated how much I wanted to just let it all go, to just melt into him like nothing had happened. But everything had happened.

After a moment, he spoke again, even softer this time. "I haven't touched you since I saw you again. I didn't know if I was allowed to." He hesitated. "Can I hold you?"

I don't know why, but that broke me a little more. Maybe it was the way he asked, the way his voice sounded almost unsure, almost vulnerable. Bose, who had always been so touchy with me, was asking for permission to do something so simple.

I closed my eyes, my heart aching. I didn't trust my voice, so I just gave him the smallest nod.

"Let's go to the beach tomorrow, with your motorcycle. You still have it right?" he whispered.

I nodded, still not wanting to use my voice to respond.

His hold tightened, slow and careful like he was afraid I'd disappear. His fingers brushed against my arm, his warmth sinking into me, grounding me.

And suddenly, it felt like I was at home again.