Chapter 14

After that night, Evan and I started hanging out—concerts, games, you name it. Turns out, we shared a ton of passions, like we were cut from the same cloth. At first, I saw him as a big brother, nothing more. But the more time we spent together, the more he stirred something in me. Every little detail I overlooked, he noticed. The ceremonies and gestures I'd been denied? He made sure I had them.

If Derek was a reckless gust, Evan was a warm spring sun. Realizing I might be falling for him freaked me out. I bolted, cutting off contact, grabbing a random plane ticket, and hitting the road. I wandered deserts, marveling at sunsets over endless sands; climbed the world's highest peaks, gazing at twinkling cities below; even worked as a war zone photographer, capturing raw wolf suffering.

Three months later, Evan still haunted me—his gentle voice, his easy smile, the way he instinctively put me first. I couldn't help comparing him to Derek. After a fierce mental tug-of-war, I bought a ticket back to Westron Town.

At the airport, I swapped my SIM card back in. As my phone loaded, I rehearsed a thousand excuses for Evan. Then it overheated, flooded with missed calls and texts—all from him.

Hannah, dinner tonight?

Hannah, you busy?

Hannah, where are you? You haven't been home in days.

Hannah, did I do something to upset you?

Hannah, I'm worried sick. I'm losing it.

Hannah, please reply when you see this.

I couldn't believe it—over twenty thousand messages, each one like a piece of his heart, screaming, You're everything to me. I can't lose you.

A shadow fell over me. Before I could look up, arms pulled me close. Evan's chin rested on my shoulder, his warm breath tickling my neck, sending my heart into a frenzy. "Hannah, I missed you," he rasped, voice rough like he'd been up for days.

His body was burning up. I touched his forehead—scorching. "Evan, hold on. I'm getting you to a healer."

But he clung to me, stubborn. "Promise me first—you won't vanish again."

"I promise," I said.

Half an hour later, he was in a hospital bed, exhausted but still gripping my hand. His assistant approached. "Hannah, can we talk privately?"

My gut told me he had answers. In the stairwell, he handed me a photo album. "Look through this. It'll explain a lot."

I flipped it open. Pictures of me and Evan as pups, snapshots of me in every mood, filled the pages. Behind each, his handwriting spilled out—years of raw, unwavering love. For eight years, I was his only one.

Tears blurred my vision, my voice shaky. "Why didn't he come find me?"

If he had, would Mom and I have had a different life? The assistant sighed. "After you moved away, Evan's congenital heart condition flared up. His parents took him back to Westron Town for treatment. He was a wreck, searching for any news of you while enduring therapy. Everyone thought he wouldn't last a month, but he clung to your photos, surviving year after year. Last year, he finally got a heart transplant. It worked."

The assistant said more, but I couldn't hear it. Clutching the album, I returned to Evan's bedside, staying close. His pale lips and weary face broke me with guilt.

"Why're you crying?" Evan stirred, smiling as he wiped my tears.

"Hannah, don't blame yourself. You're perfect."