Chapter 65 - Meg's POV

Saturday, 9:45 PM — The Conversation We've Been Avoiding

The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the table lamp and the flickering of the muted TV in the corner. The others were scattered around the house—some asleep, some half-watching late-night reruns—but Milo and I were still awake, sitting across from each other at the small kitchen table like we were about to negotiate world peace instead of just figuring out how to stop hiding.

I twisted the ring on my finger nervously, waiting for him to say something first. But Milo was just as quiet, eyes steady and calm, fingers drumming a slow rhythm against the wooden surface.

"Okay," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. "We have to talk about... this." I gestured between us.

Milo smiled softly. "About the elephant in the room."

"Yeah. The one that's been sitting here since Zombies 2." I let out a breath. "Ten years, Milo. Ten years of pretending. Of half-truths, and smiles, and acting like we're just best friends."

He nodded. "And it's exhausting."

"It is." I met his gaze. "I'm tired of the lies. The side glances. The awkward silences whenever someone says something about dating. I'm tired of hiding the way you make me feel just because we think it's easier that way."

Milo reached across the table and took my hand, fingers curling around mine. "I feel the same. I want to stop pretending."

"But are we ready for what happens when we do?" I asked. "The questions, the whispers, the looks?"

He squeezed my hand. "We don't have to shout it from the rooftops. We don't need a public declaration. We just... stop hiding. Let our actions speak for themselves."

My heart picked up. "Like... not pretending we're not close. Not stepping back when people are around. Just being... us."

"Exactly." Milo smiled, a little shy now. "I want to hold your hand in public. I want to kiss you without worrying who's watching. I want us to be real, even if we don't say the words."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Me too."

We sat there a moment longer, fingers intertwined, the weight of years lifting just a little.

"This is scary," I whispered.

"Yeah," Milo said. "But maybe scary is exactly what we need."

And in that quiet kitchen, with nothing but the soft hum of the night around us, we made a silent promise to stop hiding. To start living.