Chapter 5: Reckless Love, Last Night

Maybe it’s better to let go now, before resentment and regret set in. Before we start to hate each other for things we can’t control.

It’s like even if we’re wrong for each other, we just keep sinking deeper.

Love can be a trap, pulling you under. Even when you know you should let go. I didn’t want us to drown in what we used to be.

Breakups should have some dignity. Instead of letting our love rot away, maybe it’s better to say goodbye now and honor what we had.

I wanted to remember us at our best. Young, in love, full of hope. I didn’t want to drag it out until all we had left was bitterness.

The room was quiet again. Even though I wanted to say, “Let’s not break up,” I stayed silent.

The words stuck in my throat, unspoken. I watched her breathe, watched the rise and fall of her chest, and tried to burn the moment into my memory.

She couldn’t stand the silence. Suddenly, she got up, wiped her tears, and said she was going to take a shower.

She grabbed her bag, disappearing into the bathroom. Without another word. The sound of running water filled the room, a thin barrier between us.

When the water started, I knew she was crying.

I imagined her sitting on the edge of the tub, head in her hands, letting the water hide her tears. I wanted to go to her, but I knew she needed space.

Only then did I let myself cry, burying my face in the pillow and letting my tears fall.

The pillowcase grew damp. Muffled my sobs. I let it all out, the grief, the regret, the helplessness. It felt like my heart was breaking open.

I couldn’t cry in front of her. I didn’t want her to see me and hurt even more.

I wanted to be strong for her, to give her something to hold onto, but I was falling apart, just like she was.

I lay on the bed and opened our old messages.

My phone glowed in the dim light. I scrolled through months of texts, rereading inside jokes. Late-night confessions. Silly memes we’d sent each other. Each message was a tiny piece of our history.

The fights, the sweet talks, the endless goodnights—

I lingered on the goodnight texts, the little hearts, the way she always said, "Sleep tight, dream of me." I wondered—would I ever find that kind of love again?

Every text was a memory I couldn’t let go of.

I wanted to save them all, but I knew that someday I’d have to let them go, too. For now, I clung to them, desperate for anything that still felt like us.

The bathroom door opened.

The sound startled me. I wiped my eyes, trying to compose myself before she saw me.

She was wrapped in a towel, standing in the doorway.

Her hair was wet, clinging to her shoulders. She looked smaller somehow. Fragile and exposed. But there was a new determination in her eyes.

Water beaded on her shoulders, her hair hanging wet, her eyes red.

She looked at me, her gaze steady. I could see she’d been crying, but she wasn’t hiding anymore. She took a deep breath and crossed the room to me.

She’d made up her mind. She walked over and straddled me on the bed.

She climbed onto the bed, knees on either side of my hips, and settled her weight on me. Her towel slipped a little, but she didn’t seem to notice.

She cupped my face, just staring into my eyes.

Her thumbs traced the line of my jaw, her fingers gentle. She looked at me like she was searching for answers, for reassurance, for love.

My heart pounded. I reached out and hugged her waist.

Her skin was warm and soft under my hands. I pulled her closer. Felt the steady thump of her heartbeat against my chest.

I closed my eyes for a second, savoring the feeling, trying to memorize every detail. I wanted to remember her like this, close and real.

The towel was still damp from her shower. She leaned into me, and I ran my fingers along her legs.

Her skin was cool from the water. Goosebumps rose as my fingers traced her calves. She shivered, but didn’t pull away.

She touched my eyebrows and said quietly, “Your eyebrows are a mess.”

Her voice was teasing, but soft. She smoothed my brows with her thumb, the way she always did when she wanted to distract me from my worries.

I remembered how she once used a little trimmer to fix my eyebrows, telling me not to move, her face so serious, worried she’d hurt me.

She’d sit me down in front of the bathroom mirror. Her tongue poking out in concentration as she trimmed each stray hair. I’d pretend to grumble, but secretly, I loved the attention.

I’d always say it was pointless for a guy to care about that, but I’d sneak a look in the mirror afterward.

I’d run my fingers over my brows, surprised at how much better I looked. I never told her, but I started caring, just a little, about how I looked for her.

I remembered how she’d put sunscreen on me, show me how to use moisturizer.

She’d lecture me about sun damage, squirt lotion into my palm, and watch to make sure I actually used it. It was one of those little things that made me feel loved, even when I pretended to roll my eyes.

She always kept me looking good, even when I pretended not to care.

She’d pick out shirts for me, nag me to do laundry, remind me to shave before important interviews. I always acted annoyed. But I loved that she cared.

But she always took care of me.

It hit me, all at once, how much I’d miss that. No one else would ever know me like she did, care for me in all the little ways that mattered.

I looked at her and said, “Thank you.”

I meant it. For everything—her patience, her kindness, her love.

She asked, “Thank me for what?”

She looked surprised, her head tilted to the side, waiting for my answer.

I sniffled. “Thank you for teaching me that white shirts go with khaki pants, that pimples can be covered up, and not to leave my top buttons undone.”

I tried to smile, hoping she’d laugh. I wanted to remember her laughter, the way it always made everything feel lighter.

She burst out laughing. “You really used to be a mess.”

Her laughter filled the room, bright and clear. For a moment, it was like everything was okay again, like we were just two kids teasing each other on a lazy Saturday morning.

She laughed, then started crying again.

The laughter faded, replaced by tears. She wiped her eyes, shaking her head at herself, but I could see the sadness lurking just beneath the surface.

She said, “I made you look better, but now I have to hand you off to someone else.”

Her voice cracked. I felt the loss settle in my chest like a stone. She tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

That sense of loss hit me even harder.

It was a gut punch, realizing that we’d both have to move on, to let someone else fill the spaces we’d carved out for each other.

Turns out I can’t stand the thought of her as someone else’s bride either.

I never thought about how hard it would be for her, too. I’d always assumed I was the only one struggling to let go.

She can’t bear to let me go either.

I saw it in her eyes, the way she clung to me, the way she kept reaching out, even as we said goodbye.

She asked, “Will you love someone else the way you loved me?”

Her voice was small, uncertain. She searched my face, hoping for reassurance. For a promise I couldn’t give.

I didn’t know what to say.

I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. I didn’t want to lie, but I couldn’t promise her I’d never love again, either.

My mind went blank, so I asked her right back, “Will you?”

It was a weak attempt to deflect, to share the pain. I knew it was a pointless question, but I needed to hear her answer, too.

We both knew it was a dumb question. We knew today was the end, but neither of us wanted to see the next chapter start for the other.

We sat in silence, the question hanging between us, unanswered. We both knew the truth, but neither of us wanted to say it out loud.

Suddenly, I thought, all those movies and books lie.

I remembered every rom-com, every love story that promised happy endings if you just loved hard enough. None of them prepared me for this kind of heartbreak.

They say if you really love someone, you’ll want them to be happier. But what if you don’t?

But all I felt was jealousy, possessiveness, the selfish wish that she’d never move on, never find someone else.

I looked at her shoulders—she looked so good in off-the-shoulder tops. She’ll wear a beautiful wedding dress for someone else someday.

I pictured her walking down the aisle, radiant and smiling, but not for me. The thought made my chest tighten, my hands clench the sheets.

She’ll lean on someone else, make forever promises.

I tried to picture her happy. But all I saw was myself, alone in the crowd, wishing it was me beside her.

Love is selfish. I really don’t want to see that day come.

I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t help the way I felt. I wanted her to be happy, but I wanted it to be with me.

Right then, I felt a wild urge.

It was reckless, desperate—a need to hold onto her, to make her mine, if only for tonight.

I kept telling myself, if I don’t have her tonight, someone else will someday.

The thought haunted me, made me feel possessive and ashamed. I tried to push it away, but it kept coming back, stronger each time.

I kept twisting it around: what if her first time wouldn’t even be with her future husband?

I knew it was a terrible way to think, but I couldn’t help it. The fear of losing her—of being replaced—gnawed at me.

Why am I putting all these rules on myself?

I wondered why I cared so much about something that shouldn’t matter. Why was I letting old ideas, old fears, get in the way of loving her?

While I was lost in thought, she suddenly said, “Do you want to take a shower?”

Her voice snapped me out of my spiral. She looked at me, eyes clear, and I realized she was giving me space to think, to breathe.

I nodded and went into the bathroom.

I grabbed my bag, closed the door behind me. Leaned against the sink, trying to steady my breathing.

When the water hit me, I tried to calm down.

The hot spray stung my skin, but it helped clear my head. I let the water wash away the confusion. The guilt. The fear.

My thoughts just now were terrible. The desire in my heart disrespected the girl I love. I want her to be happy, truly.

I stared at my reflection, water streaming down my face, and promised myself I’d put her first, no matter how much it hurt.

In the end, I told myself, even if she chooses wrong someday, at least it won’t be because of me.

It was a small comfort, knowing I hadn’t taken something she might regret. I wanted her to look back on tonight and remember love, not loss.

At least, all this time, I never let her down. I stayed true to my heart, true to this love.

I dried off, pulled on clean clothes, and took a deep breath before opening the door. I wanted to be the man she deserved, even if it was just for tonight.

After showering, I came back to the room. She was already under the covers.

She looked up at me, her eyes soft and inviting. She patted the bed beside her, and I climbed in, heart pounding.

She snuggled closer, her body warm against mine. I wrapped my arms around her. Pulled her close.

Then she lay on my chest, and I held her close.

She rested her head over my heart, listening to its frantic beat. I stroked her hair, wishing I could stop time.

She held my hand, lacing her fingers with mine, and looked up at me again.

Her fingers fit perfectly between mine, like they were made for each other. She squeezed my hand. Her thumb tracing circles on my skin.

She asked, “What are you really afraid of?”

Her voice was gentle, patient. She wanted the truth, not excuses.

I’m afraid you’ll regret it. I’m afraid some guy down the line will care.

I looked away, ashamed. I didn’t want to admit how much those fears still controlled me.

She said, “That’s my choice. You don’t need to decide for me.”

Her voice was firm, stronger than I’d ever heard it. She squeezed my hand. Forced me to meet her eyes.

I couldn’t help but say, “I’m doing it for your own good.”

I tried to explain, but it sounded weak, even to me. I wanted to protect her, but I was really just protecting myself from guilt.

She suddenly grabbed my hand and placed it on her chest, just above her heart.

Her skin was warm, her heartbeat steady and strong. She looked at me, daring me to listen. To feel what she felt.

I could feel it pounding.

It was fast, wild, alive. I realized—she was just as scared, just as vulnerable as I was.

She said, “Not every girl wants you to be a gentleman. Sometimes we want you to take the lead, to be a little reckless. I want it, but I can’t say it. I hope you’ll be impulsive, so later I can tell myself you wanted it too. But I love you, so I can’t turn you down. And when you want me, it proves you love me, truly.”

Her words were a revelation. I’d always thought I was protecting her, but maybe I was just holding back out of fear. She wanted to be wanted, to feel desired, to know that I loved her enough to let go of my doubts.

I didn’t know what to say.

I stared at her, speechless. She’d given me permission, told me what she needed, and I realized I’d been holding back for all the wrong reasons.

She wanted my passion to win out over my reason.

She wanted me to choose her, to choose love, even if it was messy and complicated and scary. I felt something shift inside me. A new courage rising up.

Turns out, when reason chokes out love, it hurts her too.

I thought I was being noble, but all I’d done was make her feel unwanted. I vowed to never let that happen again, not tonight.

She sat up and hugged my arm.

She wrapped both arms around my bicep, clinging to me like a lifeline. I could feel her tears soaking through my shirt.

Suddenly, she started crying again, her voice cracking: “I don’t want to show you this. I don’t want you to use this on someone else. But what can I do? You’re the one I love most. I just want to fall with you, just this once.”

Her words broke me. I wanted to promise her I’d never love anyone else, never let anyone else in. But I knew I couldn’t. All I could do was love her, right here, right now.

Seeing her cry so helplessly made my heart ache.

I pulled her close, holding her as tightly as I could, hoping my love could make up for all the pain.

I kissed her, and she stopped crying.

Our lips met, soft and gentle at first. Then growing more urgent. I tasted her tears, felt her breath hitch, and knew she was mine, just for this moment.

Unlike before, this kiss was full of deep, aching love.

It was different—more than desire, more than comfort. It was a promise. A goodbye. A thank you for everything we’d shared.

Suddenly, she slipped her tongue into my mouth.

The surprise made me gasp, but I kissed her back, matching her passion. She tasted like mint, fresh and sweet.

Mint. She’d just brushed.

I smiled against her lips, realizing she’d planned for this, wanted to be ready for me, even in the smallest ways.

So she really had planned everything.

She’d thought of every detail, from the room to the way she kissed me. It made me love her even more, if that was possible.

When she was ready, she was full of hope, wanting to love me one last time.

She looked at me, eyes shining with tears and determination. I knew she was giving me everything she had. Holding nothing back.

My attempts to protect her had backfired, cutting her instead.

I realized that by holding back, I’d only made things harder. I vowed to be present. To give her the love she deserved.

I hugged her tight, kissing her hungrily. Her breathing sped up, and as I kissed her face and mouth,

I felt her body respond, arching into me, her hands tangled in my hair. Every kiss was a plea, a promise, a goodbye.

She shifted, her body arching. I hesitated, then kissed her neck.

She gasped, her fingers digging into my shoulders. I trailed kisses down her throat. Savored the way she trembled beneath me.

She let out a soft moan.

The sound sent a jolt through me, raw and electric. I wanted to give her everything, to make her feel loved, cherished, unforgettable.

All the feelings we’d buried flared up again.

Desire, love, grief—they all mingled, burning bright and fierce. I felt like I might come apart, but I didn’t care. I wanted to feel it all.

And so did my anger—at myself, at the world, at how unfair it all felt.

I wanted to scream, to rage against fate, against the distance and the money and the timing that had torn us apart. But all I could do was hold her, love her, for as long as I could.

She was so beautiful in my arms.

Her skin glowed in the soft lamplight, her eyes shining with tears and love. I wanted to remember her like this. Always.

Her face was flushed, her body trembling, her voice sweet and breathless.

She whispered my name, her voice shaky but sure. I kissed her again, desperate to hold onto the moment.

All of this will belong to someone else someday.

The thought made me ache, but I pushed it aside. Tonight, she was mine, and that was enough.

I don’t want to give her away.

I wanted to keep her, to hold her forever, but I knew I couldn’t. All I could do was love her as hard as I could, for as long as I could.

I don’t want anyone else to see this side of her.

I wanted to be the only one who knew her like this, who saw her vulnerable and strong and beautiful all at once.

I can’t let go of any part of her, any proof she was ever mine.

I wanted to leave a mark, a memory, something she’d carry with her, even after we were gone.

I was furious at myself, but all the anger turned inward.

I blamed myself for not being enough, for not finding a way to make it work. But tonight, I promised myself I’d give her everything I had left.

I couldn’t hold back anymore. My tears fell as I said, voice shaking, “I love you. I love you so much. I was going to keep it in, but if I don’t say it tonight, I’ll never have another chance. I love you. I think of you every day. I hope to dream of you every night.”

The words tumbled out, raw and broken. I couldn’t hold them in any longer. I needed her to know, needed her to remember.

Hearing me, she hugged me tighter, whispering, “Why hold it in, silly? I love you too.”

Her voice was soft, full of wonder and relief. She buried her face in my neck. Her arms wrapped tight around me.

I cried, “Because I can’t let you go. I don’t want to break up.”

The truth spilled out, ugly and desperate. I didn’t care if it made me weak. I needed her to know how much she meant to me.

I couldn’t stop the tears, couldn’t catch my breath.

I sobbed into her hair, my body shaking. She stroked my back. Whispered soothing words, trying to calm me down.

I was supposed to be the strong one, but I was sobbing, helpless.

I’d always tried to be the rock, the steady one. But now, I was falling apart, and she was the one holding me together.

My sadness broke loose, all at once.

Years of fear and longing and love poured out, flooding the room. I let it happen. Let myself feel everything I’d been holding back.

My throat was tight, my words coming out in broken pieces.

I tried to speak, but the words came out choked and ragged. I didn’t care. I needed her to hear me, to know I meant every word.

I cried and said I didn’t want to break up, that I wanted to spend my life with her.

I begged her to stay, to give us another chance. I knew it was impossible. But I had to try.

I once tried the aging filter on TikTok, secretly used it on us, saw us with white hair and wrinkles, but she was still smiling in my arms.

I’d laughed at the silly photo, but deep down, I wanted it to be real. I wanted to grow old with her. To see her smile every day.

I once watched a romance movie where the heroine died, and imagined her dying someday. The more I thought about it, the sadder I got, hiding under the covers to cry.

I’d pictured a future without her, and it had broken me. Now, that future was real, and I didn’t know how to face it.

She just showed up in my life, brought me so much happiness, and now she’s leaving me with only memories.

I wanted to thank her, to tell her how much she’d changed me. But the words got lost in my tears.

The more I spoke, the sadder I got. She frantically wiped away my tears, sobbing, “Baby, don’t cry, please…”

Her hands were gentle, her voice pleading. She kissed my cheeks, my forehead. Tried to comfort me even as she cried herself.

She lay in my arms, my hands around her waist.

We clung to each other, bodies tangled, hearts beating in sync. I never wanted to let go.

This hug was different. We just lay there, close, the scent of her body wash hanging in the air.

It was quiet, peaceful. The storm of emotion finally settling. I breathed her in, memorizing the way she smelled, the way she felt in my arms.

Knowing there wouldn’t be another moment like this, I felt my heart ache, my emotions drowning my reason. I said, “I want to be your man, even if it’s just tonight.”

The words came out shaky, but true. I wanted to give her everything I had left. To make this night unforgettable.

She leaned in and kissed me, whispering, “I won’t regret it. Even if I change someday, at least this moment was worth it.”

Her words were a balm, soothing the ache in my chest. I kissed her back, promising her with my lips what I couldn’t promise with words.

Then she pulled the blanket over us.

She tugged the comforter up to our chins, cocooning us in warmth and darkness. I felt safe, protected, loved.

Under the covers, she let her towel fall away.

The fabric slipped to the floor, forgotten. She pressed her body against mine, skin to skin, and I felt a new surge of love and longing.

She tossed it out from under the blanket, gave me a goofy smile, and said, “At least right now, we belong to each other.”

Her smile was lopsided, a little embarrassed, but full of joy. I grinned back. Felt lighter than I had all night.

I held her close, feeling her warmth. Suddenly, I remembered a lyric:

It was from a song we’d danced to at prom, something about holding on to the present because the future is never promised. The memory made me smile, even through the tears.

No matter what the future holds, at least we’re happy now.

That was all that mattered. The future could wait. Tonight, we had each other. Just us.

Yeah.

I can’t control tomorrow. I can’t control the future.

I let go of the worries, the fears, the what-ifs. I focused on her. On us. On the love we shared right here, right now.

I don’t know who she’ll meet, what kind of life she’ll have.

Maybe she’ll move to a big city, fall in love with someone new, build a life I’ll never see. I hope she’s happy, truly.

But right now, we both want each other so much. If we let this moment go, we’ll regret it forever.

I kissed her, slow and deep, pouring all my love into the moment. I wanted her to remember this. Always.

I rolled over, holding her beneath me. She closed her eyes, her lashes trembling.

She looked so beautiful, so vulnerable. I brushed her hair back. Kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips.

I asked, “You won’t regret it?”

I needed to hear her say it, one last time.

We know more than you think.

Her answer was soft, but sure. She smiled. Her eyes shining with love and certainty.

That simple sentence gave me the courage I needed.

I felt my fears melt away, replaced by a fierce, reckless love. I was ready to give her everything, to make this night ours.

I reached for her waist, and she arched up, letting me hold her.

Her body pressed against mine, warm and inviting. I kissed her, slow and gentle, savoring every second.

She whispered in my ear, “I love you.”

Her breath was hot against my skin. Her words a promise I’d carry with me forever.

As I kissed her face, I reached for the nightstand.

On the nightstand sat a hotel condom.

My hand found the little foil packet, crinkling in the dark. I looked at her, searching her eyes one last time, and saw only love, trust, and the bittersweet ache of goodbye. I knew, in that moment, we belonged to each other—at least for tonight.