Tell me how to love you

The air in the room felt heavier now, thick with the weight of Mark's own uncertainty. He could hear the faint sounds of the outside world, distant voices and the soft rustling of leaves, but none of it reached him. It was like he was suspended in a bubble of his own making, cut off from everything and everyone. The silence in his apartment had become an oppressive presence, filling every corner, suffocating him.

As he sat there, his mind replayed the message he had sent Emma—"I think we should take a step back. I'm sorry. I just need some space to sort through some things." The words were still fresh, still echoing in his mind like a cruel reminder of the decision he had made. The minute he hit send, he had felt an instant, deep regret flood through him. But it was too late. The words had left his fingers, carving an irreversible path between them. He had pushed her away, and now, all he could do was sit in the consequences.

For a few moments, he tried to drown out the overwhelming anxiety that rose in his chest. He had been alone for so long that the idea of being with someone, of allowing himself to be seen and truly known, terrified him. Emma had made him feel something—something that he hadn't felt in years, if ever. She had seen something in him that he couldn't even see in himself. And now he had ruined it. Again. And as much as he tried to convince himself that it was for the best, the fear still gripped him, a tightening vice that left him breathless.

But then, the sound broke through—sharp, insistent. A knock at the door.

Mark's body went rigid at the sound, and for a moment, he didn't know whether to move or stay frozen where he was. It was like a jolt to his system, an electric shock that brought him back to reality with an intensity he wasn't prepared for. He didn't need to hear another knock to know who it was. It was Emma. He knew it deep down.

He sat motionless, his mind whirling with a thousand conflicting thoughts. Should he answer? Should he hide? But the knocking came again—louder this time, more desperate. The sound was no longer just a simple tap, it was an attempt to break through the wall he had built around himself. And that wall was crumbling faster than he could keep up with.

Another knock.

His heart pounded louder in his chest as he stood up, his legs unsteady beneath him. He felt a wave of dizziness hit him, a sickening rush of panic that made him feel like he was drowning. Every part of him wanted to stay in the safety of his self-imposed isolation, to pretend that he hadn't just made the biggest mistake of his life. But something about the sound of her voice, even though it hadn't reached him yet, pulled him towards the door.

He didn't know how long he stood there, just staring at it. His hand hovered above the doorknob, trembling slightly. The space between him and the door felt infinite, as if it was a chasm he wasn't sure he could cross. He was so afraid of what was on the other side.

The knocking came again, softer now, almost like she was holding back tears. "Mark… please."

Her voice was quiet, tentative, as though she wasn't sure whether he would even hear her, or if he was willing to listen. Mark's breath hitched in his throat. He could hear the hurt in her voice, the fear, and it broke him in a way that nothing else had. She had come. She had followed the trail of his silence, hoping, perhaps, to find some answer, some resolution to the coldness he had sent her way.

He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. This was the moment—the moment when he could either open up or shut down completely. The choice lay heavy in his chest, and it felt like a decision that would define the rest of his life. He knew he couldn't keep running from her, from his own feelings, but the fear paralyzed him.

For a second, Mark wondered if he could lie to her. If he could make an excuse, tell her that it was all just too much, that he needed more time, that he wasn't ready. But deep down, he knew that was just another way to run. It wasn't the truth. The truth was far simpler, and yet far more painful: he was terrified.

He wasn't ready to be loved, to be open, to risk everything. Every time he had opened himself up to someone, it had ended in disaster. Every time he had believed that maybe—just maybe—someone could love him for who he was, it had crumbled. And now, Emma was standing on the other side of the door, waiting for something he wasn't sure he could give.

"Please, Mark," she said again, her voice breaking slightly, each word heavy with desperation. "I don't understand. Why are you doing this?"

Her words struck him like a physical blow, and Mark's breath caught in his chest. She didn't understand. And how could she? He hadn't given her the chance to. He had shut her out, locked himself away, and now she was asking him to explain himself when he wasn't even sure he could explain it to himself.

His fingers hovered over the doorknob, trembling with the effort to stay still. He wanted to open it. He wanted to face her, to apologize, to tell her everything that had been plaguing him for so long. But the thought of letting her see him in his rawest form, in the mess that he had created, made him want to retreat further into himself. He could hear her voice on the other side, soft but full of emotion, and it cut through him in a way nothing else could.

There was a moment—just a brief moment—when he considered opening the door. Just a crack, to let her know that he wasn't rejecting her, that he wasn't rejecting himself either. But the weight of his own fear stopped him. What if she didn't understand? What if she saw him for what he really was, what he feared he had always been? What if she couldn't forgive him for pushing her away?

His hand fell from the doorknob, and the silence between them grew unbearable. Emma was still there, still waiting, still hoping. Mark could hear the soft exhale of her breath, the quiet rustling of her clothes as she shifted on the other side, unsure of what to do next. And yet, there was something in her quiet persistence that made him want to reach for the door again, to step out and face what he had been running from.

But then, Emma's voice trembled again, softer now, as though she had come to terms with something he couldn't yet face. "Maybe… maybe you don't want to let me in," she said, her voice shaking just slightly. "But I just want you to know that I'm here. Whenever you're ready."

The words broke something inside him. The thought that she was willing to wait, to be patient, to give him the space he clearly needed, made his chest tighten with guilt and regret. She didn't understand fully, not yet, but there was something in her voice—something in the way she spoke—that told him she didn't want to give up on him. Not yet. And it was both a relief and a heavy burden at the same time.

Mark closed his eyes, letting the weight of her words wash over him. He stood there for what felt like hours, the door between them a barrier he couldn't bring himself to cross. And when the last of the knocking ceased, Mark felt something shift in him. A realization that Emma wasn't just waiting for him to open the door—she was waiting for him to open up.

And yet, for all the longing, for all the ache inside him, he stayed where he was, unable to make the first step. The door remained shut, the silence stretching between them. The moment was gone.

****

A/N: bro why are you not opening up the door.

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