Ethan
It was not impulse. That was the first thing I repeated to myself when I saw her alone in the hallway and decided to talk to her. It wasn't an emotional need or a late start to something I didn't know how to take care of.
It was... correction. Fit. A way of ordering a scene that, from my perspective, had been badly closed.
I left too fast last time. And although no one complained of anything, disorder – even when it is silent – has always been intolerable to me.
That's why I approached. Because leaving without greeting, without acknowledging, without accepting a defeat with my head held high, was not for me. Not with the man I am. Not with the entrepreneur I've built over the years.
When I said congratulations, I didn't do it from resentment or memory. I did it as one congratul
