No More Waiting, She Chooses Love

Ernest's eyes seemed to darken as he turned his gaze towards Yolande.

She raised an eyebrow, embodying the very essence of assertiveness.

In Ernest's world, she seemed to roam freely, undaunted by his presence. "Spill it, then. No use in tormenting the poor soul," Yolande chimed in.

Ernest looked back at me. "If you're leaving, go pack your..."

"Ernest," I cut him off, "why can't you give a straight answer?"

"I'll leave you two to chat," Yolande said, distancing herself from the conversation.

There we stood, Ernest and I, face to face.

"So, what do you think my big secret is?" he retorted.

That got me. Yolande was already playing coy, and now Ernest was dodging the question.

It was clear he didn't want to talk.

you don't want to share, fine. Whether you have a secret or not, it doesn't matter to me anymore. Knowing won't

thought to myself, why am I even trying to make up with

mere curiosity, and now it seemed

myself to stay calm, but my chest felt all tight. I realized then,

to pack, but what

here with nothing; all my belongings

wished to take with me, though: Dustin

couldn't take it without

a photo of the diary entries instead. It wasn't snooping for the sake of it; there seemed to be

leaving only Yolande querying Ernest, "Are you in

response, but he

mentioned danger. What danger? From

I was no longer interested. Ernest's

reminded myself of this and walked over to Yolande.

to say something as she looked

fiancée, yet seemingly eager to