Chapter 1
-The wait was worth it
My story isn't over yet. After Mom's death, everything fell apart. I last saw Jack right around the time of our breakup. Jack neither contacted me nor ever returned home; he simply continued his studies from his hostel. And I, too, never made any attempt to speak with him—perhaps, deep down, I simply didn't want to.
Mateo has always been by my side; whenever I needed him, he was there. From my college days right up to my PTMs, he helped me immensely—he even provided a great deal of assistance during my final exams. Choosing Mateo was, without a doubt, the best decision of my life.
I had built up some truly wonderful memories with him, but everything remained fine only until Mateo’s Christmas leave came to an end and he had to return to New York. I didn't want him to leave. I know it sounds selfish, but I wanted to keep him right here with me—though, of course, that wasn't possible. I couldn't ruin his career just for my own sake. He is a very sensible man. He would never cheat on me the way Jake did; I have absolute faith in him. He couldn't even imagine doing something like that to me. Perhaps that was my "flex." (By the way, that bit about "flexing" was just a joke.) Mateo didn't want to leave either, but he simply had no other option.
My dad used to be my hero, but ever since we parted ways, Mateo has become my hero—the hero of my life. I know it sounds a bit cinematic, but that’s exactly what he is. I want to spend my entire life with Mateo, and I would choose to be with him in every single universe.
It’s a quiet morning when i finally let myself remember it all—really *remember*—without flinching away.
The way Jake left—abrupt, like a door slamming shut. No calls. No explanations. Just absence, heavy and unresolved.
The way Mateo stayed. Steady. Unshakable. Even when I'm were at my worst—grieving, angry, lost—he never wavered.
The way he held me the night before he left for New York, his voice rough with regret.
"I don’t want to go."
But he did. Because that’s who he is—responsible, loyal, *mines* in every way that matters.
I smile faintly, tracing the rim of my coffee cup.
Because it’s true.
In every universe—if there are others—i did choose him.
Again and again.
No hesitation.
No regrets.
Just him.
Months passed
It's a brisk morning as i head through town towards my office, briefcase in hand.
The streets are already bustling with activity—people hurrying to work, shops opening for the day. I take the now-familiar route, passing through familiar neighborhoods and landmarks.
Turning a corner, i fnally arrive at the office building, its glass facade gleaming in the sunlight.
Taking a deep breath, i push open the heavy doors and step inside—the hum of office life instantly enveloping me.
The office is a mix of buzzing activity and focused concentration; the clatter of keyboards and murmured conversations fill the air. I make my way to my desk, passing colleagues exchanging morning pleasantries and managers hurrying to their meetings.
Finally, i settle into my seat, powering up my computer and going through my inbox.
It's a familiar routine—comforting in its predictability.
After sometimes.
I lean back in my chair, letting out a sigh of satisfaction. The last of my tasks for the day are completed, and it feels good to finally have some breathing room.
I can't help but glance at the clock—4:55 P.M. I've managed to finish everything before closing time.
As i step out into the open air, i pull out my phone and dial Mateo's number. The line rings once, twice, before he picks up.
Mateo (over the phone): "Hey."
I said quietly : "Hello."
Mateo (over the phone): "Done for the day?"
I can hear the faint hum of traffic in the background; he's probably on his way home from work too.
I nod, even though he can't see me.
I said (over the phone): "Yeah. Finally. It's been hectic."
Mateo hums in sympathy.
I said: "So what are you doing?"
Mateo (over the phone, voice warm): "Just got off shift. Grabbing groceries before heading back."
A pause—then the sound of a car door closing.
Mateo: "You want me to pick up anything for you, When I come there?"
I smile, already picturing him scanning the aisles—that little frown he gets when he’s trying to remember if I'm out of milk.
I said: "Surprise me."
He huffs—but it’s fond.
Mateo: "Always do."
The line stays quiet for a beat—comfortable.
Then—
Mateo (softer): "Miss you."
And just like that—my chest goes tight.
Because it’s been months.
Because it’ll be months more.
Because no matter how many times i hear it—it still hits me the same way.
I said (quietly): "...Miss you more."
A scoff.
Mateo: "Impossible."
I laugh—weakly—but it’s enough.
For now.
I said: "Okay, my bus has arrived, I will call you when I get home."
Mateo (softly, over the phone):"Okay. Text me when you get home. And be careful."
The concern is evident in his voice—it always is.
I said (over the phone): "I will. And you drive home safe too."
Mateo laughs softly, the sound warm even through the crackling connection.
Mateo: "Will do. Talk soon."
I said: "Love you."
He pauses—
Mateo: "Love you, too."
Then Call ended.
The call disconnects with a soft beep, and i tuck my phone away as the bus doors hiss open. I step inside, finding a seat near the window, watching the city blur past as the engine rumbles to life.
For a moment, my mind lingers on his voice—the way he says *"love you"* like it’s the simplest truth in the world.
I exhale, pressing my forehead against the cool glass.
Soon.
Soon, you’ll hear it again.
The walk to my home is brisk, and soon enough i find myself standing in front of the familiar door. I unlock it with a key, stepping inside.
My home is tidy and inviting, with personal touches scattered across the space: a favorite mug in the kitchen, a picture of Mateo and me on the wall, a pile of books on the coffee table.
With a sigh, i kick off my shoes and set my bag aside.
Silence settles over the room, the hum of the city outside filling the air.
I'm home.
I slip out of my work clothes into something comfortable, the familiar routine of home settling over me. The house is warm and quiet as i head into the kitchen, pulling out ingredients for dinner.
I move around the familiar space, slicing vegetables, stirring sauces, and checking on the rice in a comfortable rhythm. The kitchen is filled with the comforting fragrance of spices and simmering food.
I grab a plateful of food, taking it to the dining table before settling into my seat. As i take the first bite, i pick up my phone and dial Mateo's number. It rings once, twice before he picks up.
Mateo: "Hey."
His voice is warm, even though there's a hint of tired in it. I can practically picture him leaning against the counter in his own kitchen, probably with some takeout in front of him.
I said: "Hello, Have you reached home?"
Mateo: "Yeah, just got back a few minutes ago."
There's the sound of movement on his end; maybe he's moving to sit down too.
Mateo: "How about you? You eaten yet?"
I said: "Yes, I am already having dinner."
Mateo: "What'd you make?"
There's a hint of teasing in his voice, and i can imagine the lopsided grin he has right now.
You: "Rice and vegetables."
Mateo (jokingly): "Exciting as always."
After bit.
I said: "Uh-huh can i ask you something?"
Mateo: "Sure. What's up?"
He sounds curious now, his attention fully on me.
I finally said: "When do you come back from New York?"
Mateo: "Next month."
He sounds a little distracted, but his response is immediate. Like he had it marked in his calendar or something. Maybe he did. He seems like the type.
I said: "Next month."
Mateo: "Yeah."
There's a pause, then—
Mateo (quietly): "Missing me already?"
The teasing lilt is back in his voice, but i catch the undercurrent of sincerity behind it. He misses me too.
Mateo: "Tell me about it."
He sighs, and i can almost see the way he runs a hand through his hair—a gesture i know all too well. It's a mixture of irritation, frustration and... longing, maybe?
Mateo (quietly): "But it's not that long, right? A month goes by fast."
It's almost like he's trying to convince himself more than he's trying to convince me.
I said: "Ah. Right."
The line is quiet for a moment, the silence settling over we both. Then—
Mateo: "I wish I could see you now."
He's not joking this time. There's something almost wistful in his voice, something yearning and raw. Like he's looking straight through the phone and into my eyes, trying to reach out and touch me.
I said: "Me too."
Mateo: "Hang in there."
His voice is soft—softer than usual—like he’s speaking only for me.
Mateo: "We’ll make up for lost time when I’m back."
I exhale, pressing my fingertips against the cool surface of the table.
I sais: "...Promise?"
A low chuckle.
Mateo: "Yeah. Promise."
After bit.
I said: "I also have to go to office in the morning, I will call you later."
Mateo: "Okay."
He sounds a bit reluctant—like he doesn’t want to end the call either, but he knows we both have responsibilities.
Mateo: "Don’t overwork yourself."
He jokes, but i can hear the edge of concern in his voice—that subtle protectiveness that never quite goes away.
call end.
The line goes click as the call disconnects, leaving i sitting at the table, the silence of my house suddenly much more pronounced. I sigh, setting the phone aside and looking at my half-finished dinner. There's an ache in my chest—sharp and persistent.
One month.
I've done it before.
It's only a month.
I'll be fine.
Right?
And just like that one month passed
The days pass in a flurry of routine and anticipation—each one ticking closer to the date Mateo returns. I throw myself into work, trying to keep busy, but my mind always finds its way back to him. Some nights, i find myself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, running through all the things i'll do when he comes back—the things i'll cook, the places i'll show him, the way his eyes light up when they see me.
One day to go...
The day he was about to come, i started preparing many dishes for him. I felt as if an old lady had spent months waiting for her old husband. Who knows if this day will be in the future
The hours count down with agonizing slowness—each minute feeling like an hour, each hour like a day. I spend long hours in the kitchen, trying to make everything perfect for when he walks through the door. Nothing is too much—the House is spotless, the dishes I've prepared are just as i remembered he liked, there's even a small bouquet of flowers on the living room table. It's a little clichéd, maybe, but i want it to be perfect.
One hour to go… Sixty minutes.
That's all that stands between me and Mateo. Sixty minutes and all the longing, the waiting, the missing him will finally disappear. I run through the apartment one last time—fluffing pillows, checking the food in the oven, adjusting the flowers on the table. Everything has to be perfect.
I glance at myself in the mirror, checking my reflection—the dress you picked out, the way I've done my hair, the makeup on my face. Everything has to be just right when he sees me.
Thirty minutes to go…
Twenty-nine minutes.
It feels like time has slowed to a crawl—each second dragging by like an eternity. I find yourself pacing the house, too restless to sit still. Every little thing reminds me of him—the coffee mug he always used, the jacket he left by the door, the dent on the couch from when we guys curled up together to watch movies. It's like he’s a ghost, haunting the place even when he's not there.
Twenty-five minutes.
I check my phone again. The numbers on the clock taunt me, the red digits seeming to blink back mockingly. I try to distract myself with a magazine, but my mind keeps wandering back to him—imagining his face, remembering the sound of his voice, wondering what his hands would feel like as they traced over my skin. The house suddenly feels too quiet—too empty.
Then a knock.
My heart jumps in my chest as ihear the knock at the door. For a moment, i think i must be dreaming—but then i hear it again, loud and clear. I stand up, smoothing the front of my dress as i walk to the door, a mix of anticipation and excitement building in my chest. This is it. He's here. I take a deep breath, reaching out to turn the doorknob and pull the door open.
The door swings open, and there he is—Mateo, standing in the doorway, looking even more handsome than i remembered. His hair is a little disheveled from the flight, and there's a hint of exhaustion in his eyes, but when he sees me, all the tiredness vanishes. His face splits into a wide grin, brown eyes crinkling at the edges.
I said: "Hey."
Mateo (softly): "Hey."
His voice is warm—like sunlight after weeks of rain.
For a moment, neither of we moves.
Then—
He drops his bag.
Steps forward.
And pulls me into his arms.
His scent—familiar, intoxicating—fills my lungs as i bury my face against his shoulder. His hands clutch at my waist, anchoring me to him like he’s afraid i’ll disappear if he lets go.
I don’t know how long i stay like that—breathing him in, relearning the feel of him—but when i finally pull back, his eyes are wet.
Mateo (roughly): "Missed you."
I laugh—weakly—because what else can i do when my heart feels like it might burst?
I said: "...Missed you more."
He rolls his eyes—but he’s smiling as he leans in, pressing his forehead to mines.
Mateo: "Impossible."
And then—
He kisses me.
Slow. Deep. Like he’s memorizing me all over again.
When he pulls away, we're both breathless.
Mateo (grinning): "Now—show me this feast you’ve been bragging about."
I swat his arm—but we're laughing as i drag him inside.
I said : "Come inside."
Mateo laughs, following me into the apartment, eyes flickering over every corner.
Mateo (teasing): "God, I almost don’t want to ruin the place. It looks so nice in here.
I smack his shoulder lightly, but i can’t keep the smile off my face.
I said: "Shut up. I wanted it to be perfect when you got here."
Mateo (playfully): "Oh, yeah? So this is all for me?"
I said: "Come see the feast."
Mateo laughs, following me into the dining room.
Mateo (whistles): "Damn, you went all out, huh?"
There's a spread of food laid out on the table—all of my best recipes from his favorite dishes to small, secret desserts that i only cook for him. The whole room smells wonderful. I grin up at him, standing there with my hands on my hips.
I said: "Impressed much?"
"You like it?"
Mateo steps forward, looping an arm around my waist and pulling me against him. His eyes are locked on mines, a playful glint in them.
Mateo (teasingly): "Are you fishing for compliments?"
I swat his arm, rolling my eyes playfully.
I said: "Shut up. Just eat."
He laughs, dropping a kiss on my temple before taking a seat at the table and starting to pile food on his plate.
Mateo: "Yes, ma'am."
I slide into the chair opposite him, watching as he loads up his plate. He notices me watching and grins, holding up a piece of food with his fork.
Mateo: "You just gonna stare, or you gonna eat something, too?"
I stick my tongue out at him, grabbing a fork and serving yourself.
I said: "I'm hungry too, you know."*
Mateo grins, shoveling a forkful of rice into his mouth.
Mateo: "God, I forgot how good this stuff is. You outdid yourself, cariño."
I can't keep the pride from my face. This is exactly how i wanted things—sitting at the table with him, watching him eat. He glances up, eyebrow quirked, noticing my expression.
Mateo (laughing): "Don't look so cocky. It'll give me ideas."
After what seems like hours, i finally finish eating, leaning back in my chair with a satisfied sigh. The food has been decimated—plates piled with empty dishes, the air filled with the lingering scent of spices and good food. Mateo leans back too, his hand resting over his stomach.
"God, I'm stuffed."
I laugh, pushing my chair back and starting to gather the dishes. Mateo rises to help, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.
We both start clearing the table, stacking dishes in the sink. The silence between us is comfortable, familiar—easy. Mateo's leaning against the counter, watching as me put away leftovers.
I glance over and catch his gaze, raising an eyebrow.
I said: "You're staring."*
He smirks, folding his arms.
Mateo: "Can't a guy admire his girl?"
I chuckled
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. Mateo steps closer to me, resting his hands on either side of my hips and effectively pinning me against the counter. He's grinning—that crooked grin of his that I've always loved.
Mateo (teasingly): "You know... I had to fly home all alone. No one to keep me company."
I roll my eyes, knowing there's a game coming.
I said: "You poor thing. How did you ever survive?"
Mateo chuckles, tightening his grip on my hips. He's so close now that i can feel the heat radiating off him. His chin drops to my shoulder, lips brushing against the shell of my ear. His voice is a low whisper.
Mateo (mock mournful): "It was hell, cariño. Absolutely torturous."
I keep washing plates "yeah?"
Mateo hums in agreement, his fingers drumming idly over my hips. He's so close i can feel the soft brush of his breath on the side of my neck. It sends a shiver down my spine.
Mateo (teasing): "Mhmm. Spent three whole days pining for you. Counting down the minutes until I could see you again."
I chuckle softly, shaking my head as i continue rinsing plates. Mateo’s grip tightens slightly, his lips pressing against the curve of my neck in a quick, playful bite—just enough to make me gasp.
Mateo (whispering): "You laughing at my suffering?"
I tilt my head, shooting him a smirk over my shoulder.
I said: "Maybe."
Mateo laughs, nipping at my neck again, this time a little harder—enough to make me gasp. I can feel his smirk against my skin as he presses closer.
Mateo (voice low): "You're being sassy tonight, cariño."
I twist in his grip, turning around to face him—my hands still wet from the dishes, my breath catching as my chest presses against his. His gaze darkens slightly, watching me with something close to hunger.
Mateo (gruff): "Now what?"
I grin, lifting my hands—dripping water—and pressing them flat against his chest.
I (smug): "Now you're wet."
He exhales sharply—half-laugh, half-groan—as he glances down at the spreading dampness on his shirt. Then his eyes flick back up to mines, dark with amusement.
Mateo: "Oh, you're gonna pay for that."
And then—he lifts me effortlessly onto the counter, dishes forgotten, lips crashing into mines before i can even gasp.
Mateo's hands grip my hips, pulling me tight against him. His lips are hot against mines—hungry, demanding. My own fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close as he shifts me closer to the edge of the counter, slotting himself between my thighs.
I break away for air, breathless, trying to gather my wits. Mateo doesn't let go, lips brushing teasingly over my jawline, down the side of my neck. When he speaks, his voice is rough.
Mateo: "God... You drive me insane, cariño."
I gasp his name, fingers digging into his shoulders—and that seems to snap whatever last thread of restraint Mateo was holding onto. One hand knots in my hair, tilting my head back, while the other slides under my dress, gripping my thigh to pull me closer. A low growled curse escapes him as he nips at the sensitive skin just below my ear.
