Adam's POV
Adam sat in his room, elbows on the desk, staring at a blank notebook page.
How do you apologize to someone who gave you their heart, only to have it broken by your silence?
He'd replayed everything a thousand times. Her trembling lips. Her voice thick with humiliation. The way her eyes screamed "Why didn't you protect me?"
It wasn't just guilt that haunted him now—it was the fear that he might have lost her forever.
But words weren't enough anymore.
So he began to plan.
Not a grand gesture. Not flowers. Not expensive gifts. Tasha would see through all of that.
No, she needed something real. Something that would say, "I know you. I hear you. I see the version of you no one else bothered to see."
That night, Adam started building something.
Literally.
Two days later
The small garden space behind Ryan's building had once been forgotten. Untouched, overgrown.
But now, it was transformed—quiet, simple, and beautiful in a way that wasn't trying too hard.
Just like Tasha.
Soft fairy lights were strung through the low-hanging branches. A worn wooden bench had been painted in her favorite pale blue. He'd placed a record player nearby, old-school and crackling softly with music she once told him reminded her of Paris—the kind of quiet jazz that made her feel alive.
And at the center of it all: an easel, holding a canvas.
He hadn't painted in years. Not since college. But for her, he picked up the brush again.
The painting wasn't perfect. But it was real—a sunset sky of muted golds and pinks, with a dark silhouette of a girl sitting at the edge of a rooftop, wind in her hair. Alone, yet unbroken. Melancholy, yet strong.
At the bottom of the canvas, he'd scrawled in tiny script:
"For the girl who taught me silence can be loud."
He stood back and exhaled.
Ryan had agreed to bring her down.
Adam wouldn't speak.
Not at first.
This was not about convincing her. It was about showing her that he understood now—that he wasn't asking her to forget the pain.
He was asking for the chance to heal it with her.
______________
Tasha's POV
The garden was glowing.
Not in a flashy, romantic cliché—but softly, quietly, like a memory you didn't know you missed until it showed up right in front of you.
Tasha stepped onto the grass, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes moved across the space: the twinkling fairy lights, the soft record player crackling with jazz, and then…
Her gaze landed on the easel.
Her steps slowed.
She stood before the canvas in stunned silence, her eyes locked onto the painting. Her lips parted slightly, and something fragile flickered in her chest. The colors. The silhouette. The words.
"For the girl who taught me silence can be loud."
A small gasp escaped her lips.
Behind her, footsteps. She didn't need to turn to know it was him.
"Adam…" she breathed.
His voice was low, careful. "You don't have to forgive me. I just need you to know… I see you now. All of you. Not just the parts that smile for me."
Tasha turned, slowly.
He looked… wrecked. But open. Honest. His eyes held no defenses.
For a moment, the world stood still.
And then—without warning—she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. Hard. Desperate.
Adam held her like she was the only thing that could keep him standing.
"I was so scared you'd let me go," she whispered against his chest.
"I almost did," he whispered back. "But I'd never forgive myself if I lost you like that."
Their foreheads touched.
The silence said everything else.
Ryan's POV
From a distance, Ryan stood just beyond the garden fence.
He had brought her down with a quiet smile and stepped back before Adam even appeared. He knew this moment wasn't his.
But knowing didn't make it hurt any less.
Tasha's arms wrapped around Adam.
Her smile—shy and teary—was the kind Ryan had secretly dreamed of being the reason for.
And just like that, something inside him cracked. Not violently. Not with noise.
But like glass under pressure.
He didn't cry. He didn't speak. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, watching as the girl he loved fell into someone else's arms.
"As long as she's happy…"
But even in his mind, the thought felt hollow.
And then—he heard footsteps beside him.
Zara.
She didn't say anything at first. She just looked at him.
Her eyes weren't surprised. She had always known. Maybe longer than he had.
"I'm sorry," she said softly.
Ryan let out a bitter laugh. "For what? Being the best friend who never stood a chance?"
Zara's voice was gentle but steady. "No. For having to carry that kind of love alone."
He turned to her then, surprised by the way her words cut through his walls.
"I thought I could live with it," he admitted. "I thought… loving her silently was enough. But watching her fall for someone else... it's like something shattered, and I don't even know if I'm bleeding or just numb."
Zara placed a hand on his arm. "You don't have to pretend with me."
Ryan looked at her.
And for the first time that night, he didn't feel invisible.