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.

fine. Whether you have a secret or not, it doesn't matter

to myself, why am I even trying

mere curiosity, and now it seemed

calm, but my chest felt all tight. I realized then, Ernest's silent demeanor irked me more than Conrad's slick explanations

to pack, but

here with nothing; all

thing I wished to take with me, though:

I couldn't take it

wasn't snooping for the sake

to the door. The others were gone, leaving only Yolande querying Ernest, "Are you in this till the bitter end, or do you think you're still

his response, but he walked away without a

danger? From Brown,

I was no longer interested. Ernest's fate was none of my

this and

as she looked

to me; Ernest's fiancée, yet seemingly eager