"He didn't meet me with a smile. He didn't say a word. He just stood there, looking like someone who'd spend hours hoping I'd come and still didn't believe it when I did." Summary: Ivy gets the message—and the map point. No instructions. No persuasion. Just space to choose. So she does. She steps off the bus and finds Jace already waiting, quiet, grounded, changed. And when he takes her home—not his dorm, but his real home—she sees the scars he never let anyone touch. There’s no kiss. No drama. Just truth, honesty, and the start of something neither of them has ever had before: Real connection.

"I've spent years pretending nothing touched me. But you asked for truth, Ivy. So I'm starting where I lost it--so maybe I can figure out how to give it to you." Summary: Jace doesn’t answer Ivy’s voice memo with charm or apology. He answers it by doing something he’s never done—facing his own damage. Returning home. Talking to his mom. Owning the part of himself that always thought love was a joke. And then? He texts Ivy. Not with sweet words. But with an invitation: “Let me show you something real.”

“I didn’t kiss him because I forgave him. I kissed him because I wanted to know if he still felt like home. He did. And that terrifies me.” Summary: After hours of silence and spiraling thoughts, Ivy gets a late-night message from Jace. It’s simple. Honest. Real. And it undoes her. So she sends something back—not a text, but a voice memo that feels like a confession wrapped in courage. She doesn’t give him rules. She gives him an invitation. To show her who he really is. And this time, she isn’t hiding from what she wants.

“She kissed me once. And now nothing feels like enough. I’m not chasing her—I’m trying to become someone worth her turning around for.” Summary: Jace didn’t text. Didn’t call. Didn’t go to her door. But it’s killing him. Because that kiss didn’t give him clarity—it gave him need. Now he walks the campus like a ghost, haunted by her softness, her stillness, her yes. And for once, he doesn’t try to fix it with charm or noise. Instead, he writes something. Raw. Honest. Quiet. He’s not chasing her. He’s giving her a truth to hold onto—if she still wants it.

“I didn’t kiss him because I forgave him. I kissed him because I still feel him when he’s not even near me. And I don’t know what to do with that kind of truth.” Summary: Ivy’s trying to breathe again after that kiss— but every breath feels heavier than the last. She didn’t expect Jace to kiss her like that. She didn’t expect herself to let him. Now she’s lying in bed, heart pounding, afraid of the answer that’s slowly blooming in her chest: She wants him again. And not just his kiss. His heart. But trusting that? It’s scarier than losing him all over again.

“Her lips left mine, but something stayed behind—something I’ll never be able to shake. I’ve kissed a hundred girls and forgotten every one. But her? She’s branded into me.” Summary: Jace doesn’t feel victorious after the kiss—he feels wrecked. In the best way. Ivy didn’t crumble into his arms. She didn’t fall apart. He did. Because her kiss wasn’t forgiveness or a greenlight—it was a truth bomb. A quiet one. And now, for the first time, Jace realizes that if he wants her, truly wants her, it’s not about chasing. It’s about becoming someone worth catching.

“He kissed me like I was something holy. Like he’d been starving and I was breath. There was no hunger in it. Just reverence.” Summary: After weeks of silence, Jace finally asks the one thing Ivy never thought she’d let him: “Can I kiss you?” And she says yes. Because everything about the moment feels earned—soft, quiet, safe. Their kiss isn’t explosive—it’s intimate, intentional. It doesn’t fix everything. But it opens a door Ivy thought she’d closed forever. Now, there’s no pretending. No pretending she’s over him. No pretending he doesn’t still wreck her with just a look.

“She looked at me like I wasn’t the villain anymore. Just a boy who finally shut up long enough to listen. And for once… I didn’t need more.” Summary: Jace never expected her to meet his eyes again. But when Ivy looks up—really looks—it stops him cold. No anger. No softness either. Just quiet recognition. For the first time since losing her, he’s seen as something other than what he used to be. It’s not forgiveness, not a promise. But it’s not nothing. And for Jace, that silent moment of connection is enough to keep showing up, because hope doesn’t have to shout to be real.

“He doesn’t ask for my attention. He doesn’t even know I’m looking. But I see him now—and for the first time, it doesn’t hurt. It matters.” Summary: Ivy begins to notice Jace in quiet, unexpected ways. He’s no longer chasing or performing—he’s simply present. And that changes everything. Because for the first time, she can observe him without pain or longing. She sees the small ways he’s different. Gentler. Calmer. More aware of the space around him. And without meaning to, Ivy’s heart starts to ask a dangerous question: What if he’s finally becoming the version of himself she always hoped for?

"I don't send her texts. I don't ask for forgiveness. I just show up—quiet, consistent, present. Because love isn't loud when it's real. It's steady." Summary: Jace finally gets it: Ivy doesn't owe him anything. So instead of pushing, he shows up—consistently, without expectation. He walks past her favorite building. He sits nearby in lectures without forcing eye contact. No games. No grand speeches. Just presence. Because if he wants a future with her, he has to prove with actions, not words, that he's someone worth trusting again.

“He said the words I used to dream about. But I didn’t run into his arms. I sat there, steady. Because this time, I was listening with my heart, not my hurt.” Summary: Jace shows up and says all the things Ivy once begged for—back then, she would've fallen. But now, she doesn’t fold. She thanks him. She hears him. But she keeps her ground. Because love isn’t about timing—it’s about truth that lasts. And Ivy’s learned to protect herself first, even when her heart still aches for him.

“I thought I had time. But time doesn’t wait for boys who keep breaking the same girl and calling it love. So this time… I showed up. For her. For real.” Summary: Jace doesn’t text. Doesn’t stall. He finds Ivy sitting alone and does what he should’ve done from the beginning: tells her the truth. He admits the fear, the excuses, and the mess. And not because he expects her to take him back—he knows she doesn’t owe him that. He says it because she deserves to hear it from him, face-to-face, no games, no charm—just heart.

"I didn't stop walking because I didn't care. I kept walking because I finally do—about me. About my heart. About never begging for love again." Summary: After walking past Jace, Ivy retreats to a quiet corner of campus, heart thudding with all the things she didn't say. She saw the change in his eyes—the regret, the ache—but she doesn't let herself go back. Not yet. Not without proof. Because wanting someone isn't enough anymore. Ivy's done offering love to people who only miss her once she's gone.

"She didn't yell. She didn't cry. She didn't say a single word. And that silence? That's the loudest goodbye I've ever heard." Summary: After Ivy walks past him without a word, Jace finally breaks—but quietly. He stands frozen, realizing this wasn't just space; it was distance she chose. Her silence hits harder than any fight ever could, and for the first time, Jace understands: he didn't just lose her... he gave her the reason to leave. Now all he can do is stand in the wreckage, wishing for one more chance to prove he's not the same boy who let her go.

Left by her one true love, a woman only sees one way out the agonizing despair and chaotic emptiness he left in her heart. During the critical moment he finds her. Can he save her? Or is she lost to a heart broken beyond the ability to heal? In every love, there must be a sacrifice.

“I saw him. My heart didn’t shatter. It stuttered, sure. But I walked anyway. Not because I didn’t want to turn around—because I finally knew I shouldn’t.” Summary: n a quiet hallway, Ivy and Jace cross paths. She sees him. Feels the ache. Feels the pull. But this time, she walks. Not because she’s over it, but because she respects herself more than the echo of what they were. Her silence isn’t cold—it’s self-respect. She’s healing in real-time, and her steps away from him are the bravest ones she’s ever taken.

"She didn't pause. Didn't blink. Didn't let me see a single crack. And that's what destroyed me the most—because I realized she realized she already let me go, and I'm the only one still holding on." Summary: Jace runs into Ivy by accident, and it hits like a punch to the ribs. No words. No explosion. Just eye contact—and then she walks right past him like he's nothing more than a face she used to know. Her silence isn't bitter. It's peaceful. And that undoes him completely. Because now he finally understands... she's not angry. She's free. And if he wants her back, he's going to have to earn his way into the version of her that no longer waits for boys like him.

“I felt it. Every word, every silence, every almost. But I didn’t answer. Not because I didn’t care—because I finally do. About me.” Summary: Ivy finally lets herself process Jace’s message—not with desperation, but with clarity. She remembers the ache, the way she used to wait for his attention like air. But now she walks forward with something else: boundaries. Silence isn’t cold. It’s protective. And for the first time, her heart isn’t begging—it’s healing. Choosing not to reply isn’t indifference… it’s growth.

“She read it. No reply. And that silence hit harder than any fight we ever had. Because silence? That’s not confusion. That’s a decision. And this time… it’s not mine.” Summary: Jace finally sees the message marked as Read. After two long days, Ivy looked—and chose silence. It’s not an accident. It’s not hesitation. It’s her boundary. And Jace realizes, maybe for the first time, that she’s not waiting for him anymore. If he wants a second chance, words won’t cut it. He’ll have to become the man who’s worth her voice again. And the question that terrifies him most: what if she’s already done hoping?

"I opened it. Sat with it. And then I let it go. Because loving someone doesn't always mean answering. Sometimes it means choosing yourself, even when your heart's still sore." Summary: Ivy finally reads Jace’s message, two days later. But instead of spiraling, she breathes. The words don’t gut her like they used to. They don’t unravel her. She doesn’t reply—not because she’s punishing him, but because she no longer needs his validation to feel whole. For the first time, Ivy chooses stillness over reaction, healing over hope. And it’s not weakness—it’s freedom.