The moment the elevator doors closed, the air changed.
It wasn't just the soft hum of machinery or the sterile lighting that suddenly felt too bright—it was her. Nina stood inches from me, her hands clasped tightly in front of her like she was holding herself together. Her eyes—normally bright and unreadable—looked glassy, rimmed in pink, as though she'd either been crying or trying very hard not to. There was a nervous twitch in the corner of her mouth. She was biting it to keep it from trembling.
"Please," she said, her voice a whisper beneath the buzz of fluorescent lights, "don't say anything. Just let me talk. I'll explain."
I didn't say a word. I stepped back, folding my arms, leaning against the far corner of the elevator. The metal felt cold against my spine, and everything inside me was tight, coiled. Suspicion, confusion, hope—all of it fighting for dominance.
Nina swallowed. Her gaze flicked to the floor and then up to my face. "That guy," she started, "Kohl—he was never supposed to show up again. Not like that. Not now."
My silence must've sounded like judgment, because she rushed on, tripping over her words as if the story had been locked inside her too long.
"We went to high school together, like he said. We were… close. But not in the way you might think. Or maybe exactly the way you're thinking. I don't even know anymore."
She exhaled hard, looking away. Her fingers were trembling now, just barely. I noticed everything about her: the way her voice shook, the way her perfume clung faintly to the air between us, the way she blinked too much like she was trying to hide a truth behind her lashes.
"I liked him. A lot more than I ever admitted," she said. "But I couldn't tell him. I was afraid… not just of him not feeling the same, but of what that kind of vulnerability would cost me. Back then, everything felt like a game, like if you gave someone your heart, they'd break it just to win."
I didn't move. My chest tightened with every word.
"So," she said, her voice quieter now, "I did something stupid. I asked Nora to talk to him. I didn't say it out loud, not exactly—but she knew what I meant. She always knew what I meant. We were twins, and sometimes… sometimes words weren't necessary."
I narrowed my eyes. Something in my throat burned, but I still didn't speak. My silence was a rope she had to climb.
"She went to him," Nina said. "And somehow, things flipped. He fell for her. Hard. And she—God, Ethan—she liked him too. She said it was just a connection, that it happened naturally. That it wasn't her fault."
A sharp pain slid into my gut. I imagined Nora meeting Kohl, imagined him mistaking her openness for interest, her warmth for invitation. Or maybe it was more than that. Maybe she did love him.
Nina's voice cracked. "I wanted to be okay with it. I really did. I told myself it wasn't a big deal. That I'd never told him how I felt, so it wasn't like she stole him. But it ate me alive."
I looked at her then. Really looked. There was a heaviness in her posture, a weariness in her eyes. She wasn't just telling me this—she was reliving it.
"I didn't say anything at first," she went on. "I smiled, I laughed when she talked about him, I acted like it was fine. But every time I saw them together, something inside me cracked. I hated it. I hated how effortless it was for her. I hated how he looked at her. I hated myself for letting it happen."
Nina took a shaky breath. "And then… they broke up. I don't know why. I never got the full story. Nora just shut down. One day she was happy, and the next, she wouldn't even say his name. I tried asking, tried pushing. She said it was my fault. That I'd ruined it."
Her gaze locked onto mine, pleading. "But I didn't. I swear to you, Ethan—I didn't do anything to sabotage them. If anything, I tried to fix it. I wanted to help them get back together. Maybe I was trying to make myself feel better. Maybe I thought if I fixed what I broke, I'd stop feeling so guilty."
She stepped closer. I didn't move. I couldn't.
"But Nora didn't want to hear it. She blamed me. She said I'd manipulated her, that I knew what would happen the moment I sent her to talk to him. She said I made her a pawn in some cruel little game. And maybe she was right. Maybe deep down, I was testing her. Seeing if she'd pick me or the guy. And when she picked him… I resented her."
The elevator felt smaller now. The air was thick, claustrophobic. I could hear the echo of her voice bouncing off the walls like confessions in a church.
"We didn't talk for years after that," Nina said. "Not properly, anyway. We were polite in front of our parents, but it wasn't real. It was like some permanent wedge had been driven between us. She couldn't forgive me. And I—" She looked down, ashamed. "I told her I'd never forgive her either."
Her voice softened, trembled again. "But a couple years ago, our dad got sick. That kind of thing brings people back together, whether they want to or not. We talked. We cried. We tried. For a while, we even felt like sisters again. Two years of peace, of rebuilding. I thought… maybe we were okay. Until I met you."
That hit like a slap.
"I don't know what changed in her, Ethan. But when you came into the picture, she started pulling away. At first I thought it was coincidence. Then it was texts unanswered. Calls ignored. She said she was busy. That she needed space. But I knew. I knew it was happening again. I knew she saw something. Felt something. And maybe she thought it would happen all over again."
I shook my head slowly, my voice finally emerging, quiet but firm. "But it didn't."
"No," Nina said. "It didn't. Because this time… I didn't let it. I shut her out before she could even try. I told her she wasn't welcome. That she'd had her chance. That I would never lose someone else to her again."
She was crying now. Softly, but the tears were real. "And maybe I was wrong. Maybe she never even wanted you. Maybe I was just scared. Scared that somehow, history would repeat itself."
I pressed my hand to my face, trying to breathe. Everything in me was vibrating. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to feel.
"I'm not proud of any of this," Nina said. "But you have to know—I love you. I've always loved you. Even when I was scared. Even when I was pretending I didn't care about anything, anyone. I love you."
I looked at her. The woman I adored. The woman I'd moved in with. The woman whose secrets had become my prison.
"Nina," I said, my voice low, "do you still think about him?"
She flinched like I'd struck her.
"No," she said, shaking her head furiously. "Not like that. He was a moment. A shadow. You're the light."
My chest ached with everything I couldn't say. I wanted to believe her. God, I did. But the story she'd spun—it was too neat, too careful. Like every edge had been sanded down before it reached me.
And yet… there was pain in her voice. Real pain. Maybe not the whole truth. But something honest lived there, trembling beneath the surface.
The elevator dinged. We'd been stuck in it for far too long. Or maybe not long enough.
She stepped back. "You don't have to forgive me. I just… I couldn't keep it inside anymore."
The doors opened. She looked at me like she wanted me to follow. Like she didn't want to leave me behind.
I hesitated.
Then I stepped out after her.