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Another day passes.

And still, nothing.

I can’t stop thinking about them. Not just because of the gift they sent, or the note that came with it. The soft pink blanket, the apology. The note with their numbers, a quiet offer for help if I need it.

I can’t stop thinking about them because they’ve somehow become a constant in my head, even though they aren’t here. The lingering what-ifs that spiral around me like a windstorm, pulling me in every direction and leaving me exhausted.

But they haven’t reached out either.

I keep telling myself it’s for the best. Maybe they realised they pushed too far. Maybe they’re giving me space, as they said theywould. But a small, traitorous part of me – my omega side – can’t help butpinefor them.

The ache in my chest is constant, a dull throb that won’t go away.

I pace around my room again, eyes flicking to my phone, hoping to see a message. But there’s nothing.Of course. They don’t have my number, I have theirs.

It’s not that I want them to bombard me with texts or calls even if they did have it. I don’t. I just – I don’t know what I want.

I’m torn. Between what I want and what I think I should want and what’s been drummed into me from an early age not to want.

I grab my phone, staring at the blank screen. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I draft a message for the hundredth time.

Hey, just wanted to say thanks for the gift. I appreciate it…

But then I stop. The words don’t sound right. They don’t feel real. They’re too formal. Too controlled.

I delete it.

Then, I try again.

So, I was thinking…maybe we could talk?

I hate it immediately. It sounds needy.

Delete.

Again. And again.

My thumb hovers over the screen, typing and deleting so many times I’ve lost count. But no matter how many times I try, I can’t seem to send a message that feels right.

It’s like I’m afraid of letting them in. Afraid of what will happen if I do.

My stomach twists.

I’ve been trying to ignore the aches in my body – the soft, persistent pulling sensation that’s getting harder to dismiss. Every time I think about them, my omega side grows restless. My skin prickles, and my stomach clenches.

I feel sick, like I’m waiting for something – waiting for them to come back. To reach out.

But they don’t.

The ache is relentless now, and it’s not just in my chest. It’s deeper. My body is demanding something – something primal, something I don’t know how to handle.

A soft whine slips past my lips before I can stop it. I clamp my mouth shut, panic rising. I don’t want to be weak, I don’t want to need them – but I do.

I press my palms to my stomach, willing it to calm down. The urge to nest is overwhelming, and it terrifies me. I’m not even sure where this is coming from. It’s like my body is reacting to something I can’t control.

Pull yourself together,I tell myself, heading for my easel.

I try to focus. I try to work on a new painting, but the colours blur together. My brush strokes feel messy, incoherent. Nothing looks right. I can’t concentrate.