Nova's POV
The cold from the bench was seeping into my spine, but I didn't move. I couldn't. My knees were curled up to my chest, my fingers clenched in the fabric of my jeans, and my breath kept hitching in a way that made my chest ache. I hated crying in public, even if the only witness was a rusting park lamp and a squirrel that had clearly given up on finding food and was now judging me from a tree branch.
I sniffled and wiped at my face with the sleeve of my jacket. My cheeks were damp, my nose probably resembled a tomato, and my heart was a tangled mess of sharp things I didn't know how to untangle.
The sound of footsteps came like a whisper through the quiet. Soft, then louder. Purposeful.
I froze.
Something in me already knew it was him.
The air changed. Not in the way you notice temperature or wind, but in a way you feel—like the molecules around you have been rearranged to make space for someone bigger than life.
I looked up slowly.
