The familiar scent of home wrapped around me as I settled back into my room. It was like stepping into a time capsule: the faint smell of old books stacked precariously on mismatched shelves, the sturdy scent of pinewood from furniture my dad probably thought was a "smart investment," and just a hint of dust that said, "Hey, buddy, maybe clean your room once in a while."
My sanctuary, I thought, sighing as I let my weight sink into the creaky mattress. This was supposed to be the one place where I could feel at peace. It's been a while since I've been here, in my past life. I stayed in another room in this household, Dahlia parading around with her pregnancy, we ended up being in the same room that my parents built to accommodate us, in that lifetime.
The sunlight streamed through the blinds, slicing golden rays across the floor and turning the dust motes in the air into tiny dancers. It was a picture of nostalgia, the kind that might have inspired a poet to write about lost innocence. For me? It just made me want to sneeze. Note to self: open a window.
But as I stared at the gentle glow of the room, my thoughts wandered back to the past. Specifically, to that moment during my coma when I woke up earlier than usual—before Dahlia's voice had crept into my reality, before her suffocating perfume had invaded my senses. For once, I had felt the clarity of being alone, untouched by the chaos she always seemed to bring.
It had been a small victory, waking up before the storm. A tiny sliver of hope that, this time around, I could avoid the worst of her schemes. Yet now, as I lay here, doubt began gnawing at the edges of my thoughts like a dog on an old bone.
What if Dahlia finds another way in?
She always had a flair for dramatic entrances and a knack for making every situation about herself. Knowing her, she'd probably show up in a helicopter with a "Henry, I'm Pregnant!" banner trailing behind her, even though I couldn't get it up with the thought of her.
I groaned, throwing an arm over my face. Why is it that even when she's not around, she's still the uninvited guest in my brain?
But it wasn't just Dahlia haunting me.
Even here, in my so-called sanctuary, things didn't feel normal. The weight of the past—of my past life failures, of my guilt—clung to me like an overly affectionate cat.
Maybe this time, I could do things differently. I should not be possessed or somehow be in her control, that vomit-inducing perfume and especially any drinks she might offer will be "game over" for me. Maybe this time... I wouldn't let Dahlia ruin everything.
With a deep breath, I pushed myself up from the bed. The mattress creaked in protest, groaning like it had carried the weight of my sins. Yeah, good luck with that, buddy, it seemed to say, mocking me.
The dumbbells sat in the corner like silent judges, and I decided to grab them. If I was going to wrestle with my thoughts, I might as well try to turn the self-loathing into something productive. A few reps might do the trick, right?
But as I started lifting, the memories came flooding back. The hospital, the incident, and everything that followed. That smell—that lingering, unmistakable smell that had practically announced to the whole world, "Hey, this guy had a night!"—wasn't just the aftermath of an intense... workout.
No, it was a mix of passion and guilt. Guilt that coiled around my chest like a constrictor, squeezing tighter and tighter the more I thought about it. I couldn't even remember how things had escalated so quickly with Nyssa. One moment we were fumbling through an awkward conversation, and the next...
I set the dumbbell down with a thud, my hands trembling slightly.
Great job, Henry. You finally get her alone, and what's the first thing you do? You lose control. Real smooth. Real respectful. You absolute idiot.
The weight in my hands wasn't nearly as heavy as the one in my chest. I couldn't stop replaying that moment in my mind, couldn't stop questioning my actions, my intentions. Nyssa deserved better than that—better than me.
I tried to shake the thoughts away, gripping the dumbbell tighter and going for another rep. But it didn't help. The guilt was like a stubborn stain, one that wouldn't come out no matter how hard I scrubbed at it with logic.
I'd acted like some kind of beast, like my body was running on autopilot. I should've waited. I should've held back, been patient. That's what she deserved—someone who respected her enough to wait until the time was right.
Until marriage, Henry, my mind scolded, my inner voice dripping with disappointment. You were supposed to wait until marriage.
But I hadn't. And now, no matter how forgiving Nyssa had been, no matter how kind her words, I couldn't shake the nagging thought that maybe—just maybe—she had felt pressured to say yes.
Was she just being polite?
The idea was like a punch to the gut. I didn't want that. I didn't want her to feel like she had to do anything because of me, because of some obligation or misplaced affection.
I dropped the dumbbell onto the floor and slumped against the bed, running a hand through my hair. The guilt in my heart was becoming heavier and heavier, dragging me down into a spiral I wasn't sure I could climb out of.
What kind of guy does that? What kind of guy doesn't think—doesn't stop to make sure she's okay?
And yet, there was something else gnawing at me, something even worse. The fear that she might think I only saw her that way. That I only wanted her for her body, that all those moments we'd shared—the studying, the quiet conversations, the laughter—meant nothing to me.
But they did. They meant everything.
I sat there, staring at the wall, my chest tightening as I thought about her. Nyssa wasn't just some fleeting crush, wasn't just the girl I'd spent years pining over. She was Nyssa.
The person who had made me laugh when I thought I'd forgotten how. The one who showed up with dumbbells and a shy smile, stammering through every word in a way that somehow didn't make her sound awkward—it made her sound like her. Like the person I hadn't realized I needed until it was too late.
I gripped the edge of the bed, my knuckles turning white as the memories of my past life crashed over me. Her green eyes, once so bright and full of life, had been dimming when she died in my arms. The blood soaking her tattered dress, her fragile body trembling as she took her final breath—those were the moments that haunted me the most.
I hadn't done anything then.
I'd been too weak, too blinded by the fog Dahlia had wrapped around my mind. I had let myself become a puppet, pulling strings that hurt Nyssa over and over again. And yet, despite everything, she had stayed by my side. She had believed in me, even when I had stopped believing in myself.
And what had I done in return?
Nothing.
Nothing, until it was too late. Until she was lying there, bleeding out in the dirt, whispering her last words to me. Words I couldn't even process because my heart was shattering, and the world around me had stopped making sense.
"I thought you loved me," she had said, her voice trembling but her tone soft, almost resigned.
And the worst part? She was right. I had loved her. I had always loved her.
I loved the way she would wrinkle her nose when she was concentrating. I loved the way she would push her hair behind her ear when she was nervous. I loved her confidence, her intelligence, her kindness—the way she stood tall even when the world tried to break her.
She was everything I wasn't. Confident where I was fumbling, brilliant where I was average. And yet, she had chosen to stay with me, even when I hadn't deserved it.
But in that past life, I had never told her. Not properly. Not in the way she deserved to hear it.
And now, sitting here in this quiet room, staring at the faint golden rays of sunlight on the wall, I felt the weight of that regret pressing down on me like a tidal wave. I hadn't told her I loved her before. I hadn't fought for her.
But this time... this time, I would.
My chest tightened again, but it wasn't just guilt anymore. It was resolve.
I thought about the way she had looked at me earlier today, her green eyes filled with both nervousness and something softer, something fragile but real. I thought about the way her blush deepened when I teased her, the way she smiled shyly when she thought I wasn't looking.
Nyssa wasn't just someone I had feelings for. She was the person who had made me realize what love actually felt like, even in the midst of all the chaos and pain. She was the one who had stayed, even when I didn't deserve her loyalty.
This wasn't just about guilt. This wasn't just about making things right because of the mistakes I'd made before.
It was about her.
It had always been about her.
And now, in this new life, I had been given a second chance—not just to protect her, but to show her the love she deserved. To let her know that she wasn't just some fleeting moment in my life; she was the reason I wanted to keep going.
"I won't let it happen again," I whispered, my voice trembling with both determination and fear. "I won't lose you again, Nyssa. Not this time."
My gaze drifted back to the dumbbells on the floor, to the books she had brought me. She was still here, still trying to help me, still willing to give me the time and space to fix myself.
And this time, I wouldn't take that for granted.
I let out a shaky breath, the weight of that realization settling over me. But even that love wasn't enough to erase the guilt. Not yet.
"I'll make this right," I murmured to myself, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. "I have to. She deserves better."
As I started the next set of lifts, I heard the door creak open.
It's going to be my parents, right? Always waltzing in every single time.
But, that scent, that sweet flowery scent, that made my bedridden days bearable, the same scent that mixed with mine the night before, so I turned around to see where that warm fragrance is emitting from.
She stood there, a bit unsure but also determined, wearing three layers of clothing. Okay, Henry. Maybe she's trying to protect herself from your... overzealous flexing.
"Hey," I said, breathing heavily. "What's up?"
"I—I thought maybe I co-could help you wit-th studying, We're still not done catching up" she said softly, not meeting my eyes. The way she fidgeted with her hair made my heart ache.
"Studying?" I raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure I have to first remember what studying even feels like, but sure. Come on in." I motioned to the pile of books I hadn't touched yet.
Her eyes flitted to the books and then back to me. There was a lingering hesitation, something about her made me realize we were no longer in the same awkward zone of barely knowing each other. We had crossed that line already, hadn't we?
I placed the dumbbells down and ran a hand through my hair. Good move, Henry. Now you won't look like a total idiot.
But instead of focusing on the studies she came to help with, I found myself watching her closely—her eyes, the way her green gaze kept shifting away from mine, the pink on her cheeks, the nervous energy in her movements.
I can't help but remember the way her body swayed, her enticing wails, every mole hidden in those layers of clothing that I was able to witness.
Suddenly, the air felt heavier. The weight I had been lifting wasn't just from the dumbbells anymore.
The air in the room felt heavy, almost oppressive, as I sat across from her. Nyssa's presence, usually a source of warmth and comfort, was now tangled with the weight of everything left unsaid. The golden light streaming through the window cast long shadows on the floor, and the faint sound of the wind brushing against the panes seemed to echo the storm building inside me.
I couldn't hold it in anymore. The silence stretched too long, too thick. The words clawed at my throat, and before I could stop myself, they spilled out.
"Nyssa..." My voice wavered, but I forced myself to meet her gaze. "About what happened. About... what happened in the hospital."
Her green eyes snapped to mine, wide and startled. She held her notebook like it was a shield, her fingers tightening around its edges. "Wha-what about it , Henry?" she stammered, taking a small step back, her movements jittery. "I-I didn't... I mean..." Her words trailed off, and she bit her lip, her shoulders hunching as if bracing for something she didn't want to hear.
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing tighter. My face burned, but I pressed on, my voice softer now, quieter. "I mean... I want to take responsibility. For it. For us. I don't want it to be some random mistake."
Her expression shifted—shock, uncertainty, something unreadable. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. She stared at me as if the weight of my words was pressing down on her as much as it was on me.
The silence stretched unbearably. The golden light seemed dimmer now, shadows creeping closer as I waited, heart pounding in my chest.
Finally, she found her voice. "Henry," she said, barely above a whisper. "I—I don't think... marriage is something we should jump into. I mean, we're only 18, right?"
Her words struck me like a sharp gust of wind, sudden and jarring. But they weren't a rejection—they were a plea for reason, for caution. I saw it in her eyes, the way they darted nervously but held a flicker of sincerity.
I nodded slowly, letting the disappointment ebb away. "You're right," I said, my voice steady now. "I've just... I've been thinking about it all wrong. We don't need to rush anything." But it feels wrong too not to do anything about it.
Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she gave me a faint, tentative smile. But there was still something weighing on her, something unspoken.
"I just..." she started, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I don't want you to think that... maybe you think I'm... I don't know, too loose or a slu-slut."
Her voice cracked, and she turned her head away, her fingers trembling slightly as they clutched the notebook tighter. "After everything, I just... I don't want you to think less of me."
The words hit me like a blow to the chest. Did she think that?
I stood without thinking, closing the space between us. Gently, I reached for her hand, covering it with mine. Her skin was warm, soft, but her fingers trembled under my touch.
"Nyssa," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "Don't. Don't ever think that." I knelt slightly to meet her lowered gaze, the vulnerability in her posture slicing through me. "You're not loose. You're not anything like that. You're... you're incredible. You're strong, and smart, and kind, and—God, Nyssa, you're everything I'm not. You're everything I've been trying to measure up to for so long, and I know I'll never come close."
Her green eyes lifted, locking with mine for the first time since I'd started speaking. They shimmered, and I could see the flicker of uncertainty giving way to something softer.
I swallowed hard, pushing forward before I lost my nerve. "When I saw you at that school event," I continued, my voice trembling, "the way you spoke, the way you stood there, commanding the room like it was the most natural thing in the world... I think I loved you from that moment. You made everything look so easy, so effortless, while I've just been fumbling through, trying to figure myself out."
Her lips parted, but no sound came. I couldn't stop now. The words were clawing their way out, faster than I could think. I was scared. Terrified. But more than that, I was terrified of not saying it—of letting the moment slip away again, just like in my past life when I failed to tell her what she needed to hear.
"I—" My voice faltered for a second, but I swallowed hard, pushing the fear down. "I've loved you for so long, Nyssa. Even when I didn't understand it, even when I didn't know how to say it... I've loved you."
My breath hitched, the weight of those words heavy in the air. I could feel her gaze on me, soft but questioning, and it only made my heart race faster. But I couldn't stop. Not now. Not again.
"I don't just love you for how confident and brilliant you are," I said, my voice cracking, the floodgates of everything I'd been holding back opening wide. "I love the way you blush when you're nervous, the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you care about. I love how you showed up with dumbbells, just to help me get back on my feet. I love the way you make me feel like I'm worth something."
I stopped, taking in a shaky breath, feeling my chest tighten. She was looking at me now, wide-eyed, frozen in place. But I had to keep going. I needed her to hear this.
"I—I just—I don't know how else to say it... but I love you, Nyssa." My voice broke on the last words, and the confession felt like it had torn out every piece of doubt and fear I'd been holding onto. I wanted to pull back, to take the words back, but I couldn't. Not now. Not when I was finally being honest.
The tears came without warning, hot against my skin, and I wiped at them in vain, my hands trembling. I hadn't even realized I was crying until the first tear hit my cheek.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my throat tight with the weight of everything I felt. "I'm sorry for not saying it sooner, for making you doubt yourself, for not being enough. I thought I was... but now I know I wasn't. I should've told you before. I should've told you every day. But all I've ever wanted is for you to know that... I love you. More than anything."
The words I wanted to tell her for so long, the words before everything came crashing down, the words I should have the courage to tell her before. I have to tell her now.
I stopped for a second, my breath shaky, my chest rising and falling with the weight of everything I was trying to convey.
"I'll spend the rest of my life proving it if I have to," I added, the words coming out with a sense of finality, as if a chapter of regret was closing, and a new one—one where I could make it right—was beginning.
I looked at her then, waiting for her to say something, anything. But there was only silence. A silence that felt both fragile and full of possibility.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence between us. Her wide eyes searched mine, and I could see her own emotions swirling there—confusion, disbelief, something deeper I couldn't quite name.
Then, slowly, she reached up and cupped my face with trembling hands.
"Henry," she whispered, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. "You're enough. You've always been enough. And I..." She hesitated, her lips trembling before she took a deep breath. "I lo-love you too. A lot. That's why I... I let go that night. Because I trust you. Because I feel safe with you."
Her words wrapped around my heart, easing the tension I hadn't realized was choking me.
"But..." she continued, her voice softer now, "I don't want you to feel guilty about it. I don't want you to think less of me, and I don't want you to carry that weight. We don't have to rush into anything. Let's just... let's just be us. One step at a time."
Before I could respond, she leaned in, her lips brushing against mine in a soft, gentle kiss. It wasn't desperate or forceful—it was quiet, filled with understanding.
When she pulled back, she smiled through her tears, her green eyes brighter now. "Okay?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
I nodded, leaning my forehead against hers as I let out a shaky laugh. "Okay," I murmured, my voice thick. "One step at a time."
And in that moment, with her hands in mine and her warmth grounding me, I felt the weight of my guilt start to lift.
Her lips were so tantalizingly close, pink, and perfect. I couldn't resist any longer. I closed the final gap and kissed her again, softly at first, savoring the feel of her velvety skin. But soon, the kiss deepened, turning urgent and passionate. Like escaping from the nightmare before, my dream, my Nyssa's soft lips against mine.
I smiled, and as she smiled back, I knew I had to take my time. And this time, I wasn't going to screw it up. That delicious teasing kiss ignited a fire inside me. But I don't want to become a beast just like last time so, "Is it ok if I kiss you deeper?" my lips so close to her waiting for her affirmation.
"Ye-yes."
My lips moved hungrily over hers, pressing more firmly as I pulled her flush against my body. I could feel every curve of her pressed against me as my arms wrapped around her. A soft moan escaped her as my tongue swiped along her bottom lip, begging for entrance.
I nipped at her lips before soothing them with a gentle kiss. Emboldened, I explored her mouth, savoring her unique flavor and the feeling of her tongue stroking along mine. My hands roamed down her sides to grip her hips, fingertips settling on the edge of her jacket. I pulled back to gaze into her lust-darkened eyes. "Is this okay?" I murmured. At her breathy nod, I removed her jacket and it fell to the floor. My hands make their way to remove her vest sweater – her second article of clothing
Nyssa pushed up onto her tiptoes, her mouth meeting mine again in a kiss that bordered on frantic.
"Is it ok to touch this?" as I wavered around her chest. I want her to be safe, to feel secure that it's ok to back out, to say No, even to me.
"Henry," my name escaped her mouth as she pulled my hands to her chest, "I don't want you to think I'm a loose woman but-," her words drifted while she continued moving my hands circling her plump breast, " I want your touch, even inappropriately."
My hands slid under her bra, cupping and kneading the soft weight of her breasts. I rolled her nipples between my fingers until they pebbled under my touch. She gasped and arched into me. Blinded by desire, I moved us back towards the bed. Her hands fisted in my shirt as she began backing me up. I tugged my shirt over my head. Breaking the kiss, I watched her shake her hair out, her shirt quickly joining mine on the floor.
I drank in the sight of her clad in only a lacy black bra and matching panties. A growl rumbled in my chest as I reached out to undo the clasp of her bra. "You're gorgeous, Nyssa. I want to touch and taste every inch of you." She blushed but stepped into my arms again. "Is this pair a lucky charm too?"
"Is it wrong to think, that I wanted more of your Henry?" her arms stretch into a welcoming embrace, her words affirming me that she also wants that.
She also wants more of me.