One Last Page

I am willing to give this one final proper chance.

This weekend only, though.

No pressure, no promises, just see what happens.

Dinner, drinks, walk, whatever.

There is no required format or outcome.

Once.

Two people, one conversation, with nothing forced.

If nothing happens, at least we finally know for certain.

If something does, we can decide from there together.

After Sunday, though, I close this chapter.

That is not an ultimatum, and there is no anger behind it. I just do not want to keep dragging something unfinished through both our lives.

If we meet, we meet with an open mind. Maybe it confirms that this belongs in the past. Maybe we laugh, remember why there was something there in the first place, and see where the night takes us. Either answer is fine.

But this is the last window.

If I hear nothing by the end of the weekend, I will respect the silence as an answer. No more trying, no more wondering, no more looking back.

The book closes for good.

And for the person this is actually meant for: the first ten lines contain something practical. Seems seally, but count carefully. Sometimes ten means nothing.