The evening had grown quiet as shadows stretched across the apartment walls, catching on picture frames and the stack of laundry Maya had abandoned in the corner. The only sound was the low sound of the kettle on the stove and the rustle of pages as Maya flipped absently through the book again, her fingers tracing Logan's notes like they were written against her heart.
Sienna returned from the kitchen, handing Maya a mug of herbal tea, then settled into the armchair across from her. "Alright," she said, folding one leg over the other. "Let's talk about the elephant in the annotated book."
Maya exhaled, sinking into the couch. "It's been circling in my head all evening."
"The quote?"
"All of it." She lifted the book. "This doesn't feel random. He knew what this book meant to me. But… why leave it like this? Why not show up? Why not say something face to face?"
Sienna nodded, thoughtfully. "Okay. Let's break it down. Option one: he left it himself but didn't want to face you. Maybe he's still scared. Maybe he thinks he's giving you space."
Maya tilted her head. "That feels like Logan. He's impulsive but he's also... careful when he thinks he's hurt someone. Like he's trying to protect me from himself."
Sienna raised a brow. "Option two: he didn't leave it personally. He sent someone. Which begs the question—who? And why?"
"Exactly." Maya stared down at the book, her thumb brushing the edge of the page. "If he had someone drop it off, was that his way of saying goodbye? A last word before disappearing for good?"
"Or," Sienna added, "it's a breadcrumb. A test. He's waiting to see what you do with it."
Maya shook her head slowly. "That feels… cruel."
Sienna softened. "Maybe. Or maybe it's him giving you the power this time. Maybe he thinks the next move is yours."
"But that's the thing," Maya said, voice growing taut with emotion. "I don't know if I want to move. I don't know if I should."
Sienna leaned forward. "Then ask yourself: do you want him back?"
Silence filled the space. The kind that stretched between what was known and what was feared. Maya stared at the book as if it held the answer, but it only gave her more questions.
"I don't know," Maya admitted. "Part of me... part of me still loves him. Deeply. But the other part—" her voice broke "—the other part is still crawling out of everything I felt when I thought I lost myself in him."
Sienna nodded. "That's fair. You did lose yourself a little. But you also found pieces of who you are now. You started therapy. You picked yourself back up. You didn't let the pain own you."
Maya's eyes shimmered. "But if I let him back in, do I risk unraveling all that work?"
"Maybe," Sienna said. "But healing doesn't mean you close the door on love. It means you decide how to love yourself while you decide how or if you want to love someone else."
Maya set the book down gently beside her. "So what do I do? Wait for him? Keep going like he never existed?"
"You do what feels right for you. Not what feels safe. Not what feels convenient. But what aligns with who you're becoming."
Maya rested her head back, staring at the ceiling. "Then I think I keep going. I keep doing the work. And if Logan wants to be part of that, he'll show up—not just with books or quotes or memories. But with himself. Fully."
Sienna smiled, proud. "And until then?"
Maya smiled softly. "Until then... I'll keep writing in my journal and finding new quotes to live by."
Sienna raised her mug. "To growth. And to not letting emotionally unavailable men mess with our chapters."
Maya clinked hers against it with a light laugh. "Amen."
---
It was close to midnight, but the soft whisper of city life outside the window could still be heard—car tires on damp asphalt, a distant horn, the occasional bark from the neighbor's dog. Maya sat curled on the couch, a blanket draped around her shoulders, the book Logan left beside her felt like a sleeping giant waiting to consume her.
She hadn't touched it since her conversation with Sienna earlier that evening. But something tugged at her again—a need not entirely rational. Closure? Curiosity? Maybe both. She reached for it.
As she thumbed through the familiar, worn pages, her eyes flicked over Logan's handwriting in the margins, those dark strokes that used to make her feel seen. The warmth of a smile here, the ache of a quote there. It was almost like hearing his voice in her head again.
Then it happened.
A soft flutter.
Something slipped out from between the pages, landing quietly on her lap.
Maya stared at the envelope for a moment, then she let out a silent soft gasp. It was folded in three, with her name on the front in Logan's handwriting—smudged slightly at the tail of the "a," like he'd hesitated. Like maybe he wasn't sure if he wanted her to read it.
Her fingers trembled as she unfolded it.
Maya,
If you're reading this, then maybe you're still looking for answers. Maybe part of you hasn't let me go yet. I don't know if that comforts me or tears me apart.
I left because I was drowning in guilt. Not because I stopped loving you—but because I loved you at the same time I was still tangled in someone else. Someone I thought I'd buried in the past.
Damian.
I hated myself for it. For still feeling something when I kissed him. It wasn't the same as what I felt with you—it wasn't warm or safe or steady like you made me feel. But it was real. Familiar in a way that pulled me back into something broken, something I'd never healed from.
You deserved better than that. Better than someone who had one foot in yesterday.
I should've told you. But instead I let the coward in me drive. And for that, I am endlessly sorry.
Don't wait for me, Maya. Not unless I come back knowing how to be whole—how to love you without reservation or shadow.
But know this: loving you was never a lie. It was the clearest thing in my life. Maybe one day, when I've learned how to live with the war in my heart, I'll find the courage to see you again.
Until then, please keep writing your story. With or without me in the margins.
—Logan.
By the time she reached the last word, Maya was sitting still as a stone, the letter trembling in her hands.
It was like every part of her that had been holding its breath finally exhaled, and the sound it made wasn't relief—it was grief. Not the kind that roared, but the kind that curled in on itself. Quiet. Wistful. Ache-laced.
Tears welled and fell, tracing the curve of her cheek as she let herself feel the full weight of his truth.
He had loved her. And he had loved someone else too. And though that didn't make his love less—it made it complicated.
And it made her heartbreak make sense in a way it never had before.
Maya folded the letter gently, reverently, like something fragile that had finally come home. Then she leaned back, letting the silence surround her like a balm.
Some truths don't shatter you—they free you.
And as the clock ticked past midnight, Maya whispered to the dark, "Thank you, Logan. For loving me. Even in your broken way."
She didn't know what tomorrow would bring. But tonight, she finally understood what she had to let go of—and what she could carry with grace.