I stared at the little cat figure on the bed.

Then at Ethan.

The floating comments had disappeared so completely that, for the first time in two days, the room felt strangely empty.

Ethan repeated:

—Who told you I don’t want you touching me?

I couldn’t exactly answer:

A group of mysterious floating sentences that apparently believes my life is a romance novel.

So I looked away.

—Nobody.

—Amelia.

—I just realized I’ve been too dependent on you.

His expression tightened.

—Because I didn’t kiss you once?

—It’s more than that.

I started folding a sweater.

Ethan took it from my hands.

—Then explain it.

—I hug you constantly. I wait for you after work. I text you when you’re traveling. I ask when you’re coming home. I—

—Yes.

I stopped.

—Yes?

—You do all those things.

His voice softened.

—And?

I blinked.

—Doesn’t it annoy you?

Ethan stared at me as though I’d asked whether breathing annoyed him.

—Sometimes your feet are freezing.

My face fell.

He immediately added:

—That doesn’t mean I want you to stop putting them on me.

I didn’t know what to say.

The comments suddenly returned.

He’s only saying that because he senses she’s pulling away.

Classic avoidant behavior.

Once Amelia becomes affectionate again, he’ll lose interest.

My heart sank.

Ethan noticed my expression change.

—There.

—What?

—You did it again.

—Did what?

—You looked at something that isn’t there.

I froze.

He stepped closer.

—Whatever you’re hearing in your head, stop trusting it more than me.

That sentence stayed with me all night.

But fear is stubborn.

The next morning I still didn’t kiss him goodbye.

I didn’t message him at lunch.

When he sent:

Did you eat?

I answered:

Yes.

Nothing else.

At five thirty he sent:

Finished?

Yes.

I’ll pick you up.

No need. I’m going shopping with Maya.

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Finally:

Okay.

The comments immediately celebrated.

See? He doesn’t care.

I stared at that single word until my chest hurt.

Then another message arrived.

Which mall? I’ll bring you both home afterward.

I almost laughed.

The comments vanished again.

For the next two weeks, I conducted an experiment.

I stopped chasing Ethan completely.

No morning kisses.

No surprise lunches.

No twenty-message conversations.

No hugging him from behind.

No asking when he’d return from business trips.

I even stopped stealing his hoodies.

And something unexpected happened.

Ethan became unbearable.

On day three, he appeared at my office carrying coffee.

—You forgot this.

—I didn’t forget anything.

—You didn’t text me this morning.

—Is texting you part of breakfast?

His mouth tightened.

—You always text me.

On day five, I woke at midnight and found him standing in the guest-room doorway.

—What?

—Nothing.

—Then why are you staring at me?

He remained silent.

Finally:

—The bedroom is cold.

—Turn up the heating.

—I already did.

—Then what’s wrong?

He looked at the empty half of his bed behind him.

I understood.

But I pretended not to.

—Good night, Ethan.

His expression became almost offended.

On day seven, I returned home late.

Ethan was sitting on the sofa.

—Where were you?

—Dinner.

—With whom?

—Coworkers.

—Julian?

I stared at him.

—There were twelve people.

—Was Julian one of them?

—Yes.

His jaw tightened.

The comments appeared immediately.

Male pride.

Not love.

This time, however, I didn’t automatically believe them.

I looked at Ethan.

—Are you jealous?

—No.

—Okay.

I walked toward the bedroom.

He followed me.

—I said I’m not jealous.

—I believed you.

—You shouldn’t.

I turned.

Ethan looked irritated with himself.

—I am jealous.

The comments flickered.

I waited.

He continued:

—I don’t like him driving you home. I don’t like him making you laugh. And I especially don’t like that you’ve suddenly decided I need “personal space” while apparently Julian doesn’t.

I almost smiled.

—Maybe I’m respecting your boundaries.

—Who told you those were my boundaries?

There it was again.

I had no answer.

Three days later, Emma Reed invited both of us to dinner.

She arrived holding hands with Daniel Hart, Ethan’s legal director.

Very much engaged.

Very much in love.

Emma noticed the strange atmosphere between Ethan and me almost immediately.

—Did you two fight?

—No, Ethan answered.

—Yes, I said simultaneously.

Daniel quietly focused on his food.

Emma looked between us.

—About me?

I nearly dropped my fork.

Ethan closed his eyes.

—Why would you ask that?

—Because Amelia has looked at me like I’m secretly planning her funeral since I arrived.

I turned red.

Emma laughed.

—Amelia, Ethan spent forty minutes choosing that ridiculous cat figure because he couldn’t remember whether you preferred orange cats or gray ones.

Ethan muttered:

—Emma.

She ignored him.

—Then he made me send him photographs of twelve different toys.

I looked at Ethan.

—Twelve?

—Nine.

Emma pulled out her phone.

—Twelve.

For the first time, I realized something disturbing.

The floating comments weren’t predicting reality.

They were interpreting it.

And sometimes they were simply wrong.

That night, another comment appeared:

Amelia is beginning to deviate from the plot.

If she doesn’t push Ethan toward Emma, the original storyline cannot continue.

I stopped walking.

Original storyline.

My skin went cold.

Another sentence appeared:

The supporting female character should know her place.

Supporting female character.

I suddenly understood.

These weren’t objective truths.

They were spectators.

People—or something like people—who had already decided who everyone was supposed to be.

Emma was the heroine.

Ethan was the male lead.

And I was the annoying obstacle who needed to disappear.

But reality didn’t care about their preferred story.

Emma loved Daniel.

Ethan was standing in our kitchen at midnight trying to learn how to make the strawberry pancakes I liked because he’d overheard me tell Maya I missed them.

And I had almost destroyed my relationship because invisible strangers called me annoying.

So the next morning, I finally told Ethan part of the truth.

—Suppose someone convinced me that you hated how affectionate I am.

He frowned.

—Who?

—Hypothetically.

—I’m going to hypothetically dislike this person.

Despite myself, I laughed.

His expression softened immediately.

I continued:

—Suppose they said you wanted someone independent. Quiet. Someone who didn’t constantly need affection.

Ethan was silent for a moment.

Then he walked toward me.

He stopped without touching me.

—Do you know why I sometimes pull away?

I shook my head.

—Because I grew up in a family where nobody touched anyone.

I knew that.

His parents were painfully formal.

—When you started hugging me all the time, I didn’t know how to respond.

My throat tightened.

—So you hated it.

—No.

He looked almost embarrassed.

—I got used to it.

A pause.

—Then I started needing it.

My eyes burned.

Ethan continued:

—When I come home and you don’t run toward me anymore, I notice.

He glanced toward the guest bedroom.

—When I wake up and you’re not wrapped around me, I notice.

Then he looked directly into my eyes.

—When you stopped kissing me, I noticed that too.

I whispered:

—Why didn’t you say anything?

His mouth curved bitterly.

—Probably because I’m terrible at saying what I need.

That was true.

And maybe I had been terrible at asking.

The comments exploded.

Don’t fall for it.

He’s manipulating her.

This isn’t how the story is supposed to go.

Emma is the heroine!

I looked straight through the floating words.

And for the first time, I smiled.

Too bad.

They vanished.

Not gradually.

Instantly.

As if someone had switched off a screen.

I waited.

Nothing returned.

Ethan studied me.

—What happened?

—I think I just stopped letting strangers narrate my life.

He clearly didn’t understand.

But he smiled anyway.

Then he opened his arms.

Not dramatically.

Just slightly.

An invitation.

I stared at him.

—What?

—You’ve been torturing me for two weeks.

I almost laughed.

—By respecting your personal space?

—I have enough personal space.

—How much do you need?

He thought seriously.

—Approximately none when we’re home.

That made me laugh.

I stepped forward.

Then stopped deliberately just before reaching him.

Ethan frowned.

—Amelia.

—Yes?

—Don’t play games.

—What do you want?

He stared at me.

For a man who supposedly hated affection, he looked remarkably miserable without it.

Finally, he sighed.

—Come here.

So I did.

Months later, something strange happened.

Ethan returned from a four-day business trip.

Before, I would have run toward him.

This time I stayed on the sofa.

Not because of the comments.

Because I wanted to see what he’d do.

He put down his suitcase.

Removed his coat.

Waited.

I kept reading.

Thirty seconds passed.

—Amelia.

—Hmm?

—You’re forgetting something.

I turned a page.

—Did you lose your luggage?

—No.

—Wallet?

—No.

—Laptop?

His eyes narrowed.

Then Ethan walked across the room, took the book from my hands and placed it on the table.

—Four days.

I pretended confusion.

—What about them?

—I haven’t seen you for four days.

—Congratulations on surviving.

He stared at me for another second.

Then the supposedly cold, avoidant man bent down and wrapped both arms around me.

I burst out laughing.

—Ethan Blake, are you being clingy?

—Be quiet.

—This is extremely embarrassing for you.

—Amelia.

—Should we discuss healthy personal boundaries?

He tightened his arms around me.

—Absolutely not.

I rested my head against him.

That was when I finally understood the real lesson.

I had spent years believing affection was something I gave Ethan because I needed it.

I never realized he had quietly learned to need it too.

He simply spoke love differently.

And when I suddenly stopped speaking my language, he finally had to learn how to answer in it.

The mysterious comments had promised that once I stopped chasing Ethan, he would happily move toward another woman.

They were half right.

I stopped chasing him.

But Ethan didn’t move toward Emma.

He turned around—

and started chasing me.