For a moment, I genuinely think I've heard him wrong. The noise of the café around us fades and the conversations around us disappear, leaving me to only hear the sentence Adrian has just spoken, the sound replaying in my head on a loop. ‘I still love you.’ I stare at him for that moment and wait for him to take it back. I wait for him to say he didn’t mean it. To laugh or do something—anything that shows whatever he just said is a joke. Because it has to be a joke. A sick one, at that. Instead, he just stands there, looking at me like he actually meant it. “You really shouldn’t have said that,” is the first thing that escapes my mouth. “I know,” he says, clenching his jaw. Then, he says, “but it’s true.” I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “True?" "Yes,” he says immediately. "Now it's true?" I watch as panic flashes in his eyes, and before he can answer, I push, “after everything, Adrian?” My voice is low and calm, and the more I think about his words, the more ange
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