As days passed, Eli felt as though she was sinking deeper into her own memories, lost in a haze of nostalgia that clung to her like a suffocating fog. Each moment of silence in the lab, each pause in her work, allowed her mind to wander back to simpler times—times when she and Rai were just children, their world untainted by war, betrayal, and loss.
She sat by the window one evening, the distant hum of machinery barely registering in her ears as she stared blankly at the horizon. Her mind drifted back to when she and Rai used to escape into the woods behind her family's estate, hiding from their responsibilities, laughing as they climbed trees and played in the streams. She could still remember the sound of his laughter, so full of life, so free from the weight that now crushed them both.
There was one memory, in particular, that haunted her.
It was a warm summer afternoon, years before the war had torn them apart. They were lying in the tall grass, staring up at the clouds, their hands barely brushing each other's as they spoke about their future.
"I'll always protect you, Eli," Rai had said, his voice filled with boyish determination. "No matter what happens, I'll be there for you."
She had laughed then, thinking it was a game, that his promise was just a reflection of their innocent bond. "And I'll protect you, too," she had replied, turning to look at him. "We'll always be together, won't we?"
"Always," Rai had said, his eyes earnest and bright.
Now, that memory felt like a knife twisting in her chest.
The boy who had promised to protect her was gone, replaced by a man she hardly recognized. A man scarred by war, by loss, by a betrayal that she couldn't undo. Rai had kept his promise in the most painful of ways, sacrificing parts of himself—his body, his soul—so that she could live the life she had. And what had she done for him? Nothing, except chase after ghosts.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. She wasn't that little girl anymore, and Rai wasn't the carefree boy who had made those promises. They had both changed—grown up, hardened by the cruel reality of the world. And yet, even now, a part of her still longed for that time, for the simplicity of those days when their only worries were the setting sun and the fading light that signaled it was time to return home.
But now, there was no going back. That world, that innocence, was gone.
A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. She wiped her eyes quickly, clearing her throat as she stood. "Come in."
The door opened slowly, and Rai stood in the doorway, his tall frame casting a shadow into the room. His face was expressionless, but his eyes—the same eyes she had known since they were children—held a storm of emotions beneath the surface.
"Eli," he said quietly, stepping into the room. "We need to talk."
Her heart ached at the sound of his voice, but she nodded, gesturing for him to sit. "I know," she whispered, her voice trembling. "We do."
They sat across from each other, the silence between them heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.
Finally, Rai broke the silence. "I can't keep doing this," he said, his voice strained. "I can't keep pretending that things will go back to the way they were. We're not those kids anymore, Eli. And I don't know if we ever can be."
Eli's breath caught in her throat. "I know," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But I don't know how to let go, Rai. I don't know how to stop hoping that maybe… maybe we can still fix this."
"Fix what?" Rai's voice was sharp, cutting through the air. "What is there to fix, Eli? You're chasing a past that doesn't exist anymore. I'm not the boy you remember, and you're not the girl who used to laugh with me in the woods."
"I know that," she said, her voice breaking. "But I can't just forget. I can't forget everything we've been through, everything we promised each other."
Rai stood up, pacing the room as frustration radiated from him. "Promises made by kids who had no idea what the world was really like. Promises I couldn't keep." He stopped and turned to face her, his expression raw. "I couldn't protect you, Eli. Not from the war, not from the politics that tore our families apart. And now… now I can't even protect you from yourself."
Eli rose to her feet, her hands trembling as she reached out to him. "Rai, please. I don't need you to protect me. I just need you to be here, with me. We've both been through so much, but we're still here. Isn't that enough?"
He shook his head, stepping away from her touch. "No, it's not. Not when you're still looking for someone else. Not when you're still chasing after Adira."
His words cut through her like a blade, and Eli flinched, her heart shattering at the accusation in his voice. "It's not like that, Rai. I swear, it's not."
"Then what is it, Eli?" Rai's voice was quiet, but filled with pain. "What are you really looking for?"
She didn't have an answer. All she had were memories—of a time when things were simpler, when promises seemed unbreakable. But now, all those promises felt like a distant dream, one she couldn't wake from.
Rai looked at her one last time, his eyes filled with sorrow. "I can't do this anymore, Eli. I can't keep pretending that we can go back. Maybe… maybe it's time for both of us to let go."
"Please, don't, don't leave me!"
Later that night, she went to Rai's quarters, hoping to explain everything. She had convinced herself that he would understand—that despite the cold formality of the contract, she truly loved him, had always loved him. But when she arrived, he wouldn't even look at her.
"I did this for you, Rai," she said softly, her voice trembling. "To protect you. To keep you safe."
Rai turned away, his voice flat. "You don't have to protect me, Eli. I've survived worse."