Page 34 of The Stuffing Situation
Her voice was low. “He’s gone.”
Maya sat up too fast. “What?”
“Felix,” Blair said, words clipped now. “He left. Ashar said he was just… gone. Like something pulled him out.”
Maya’s lungs forgot how to work. “No. No, no, no, that can’t happen!”
“Yeah,” Blair snapped. “That’s what happens when you abandon someone who would bleed for you, you know. Someone who was literally glitching into realness, developing a damn soul, all because he loved you that damn much.”
Maya curled tighter into the couch, the ice cream melting into her lap, untouched. Her chest ached like it was full of glass shards.
“I didn’t want to force him to stay,” she whispered. “I thought I was giving him space, an option for a real choice.”
“You didn’t force him,” Blair said, sharper now. “You abandoned him, big difference.”
Silence. And then a knock. Firm and deliberate, Maya’s head jerked toward the door.
Her voice trembled. “Blair?”
“That panic you felt just now?” Blair said coolly. “You deserved that. For walking away from that man.”
Another knock. Louder this time. Maya rose slowly from the couch, legs shaky.
“Go answer the door,” Blair said, her tone softening. “Tell him how bad you need him.”
A beat passed.
Then, muttered under her breath:
“Before I kidnap him for myself and run off to Aruba.”
Maya stood in front of the door, hand hovering just above the handle. Her breath came too fast. She wasn’t afraid of him being gone. She was afraid of him still being there.
Because if he were, if he’d come back after everything, then she couldn’t pretend anymore. Not that he was just a glitch. Not that she didn’t love him. Not that she wasn’t already his. Not that he hadn’t already said it,I choose you.Over and over. Even when she ran.
She opened the door.
And everything changed.
17
The Speech
Maya yanked the door open, her heart stuttered in her chest, and there he was.
Felix, standing in the hallway like a miracle someone forgot to wrap.
Windblown, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. Hair mussed like he’d run his fingers through it a hundred times. In one hand, he held a plastic-wrapped bouquet of slightly wilted grocery store flowers. In the other, a crumpled sheet of paper, creased and frayed like it had lived in his pocket for days.
He looked genuinely nervous. Not from being programmed, nor the perfect way he usually did. He looked human and completely hers.
She stared at him, breath caught somewhere between her ribs and her throat. “You’re here.”
He nodded, eyes locked on hers. “I am.”
The words were steady, but his hands, just slightly, shook.
“Because I want to be.”