Dahlia is twenty-eight, backstage at a poetry slam. Cassian is reading her stolen verses to a rapt audience. In the original timeline, she confronted him and he gaslit her until she doubted her own voice. But now, Dahlia steps onto the stage mid-sentence.
Dahlia Sky never believed in fate. Not after her fiancé, Leo, left her at the altar for her best friend. Not after she caught her college sweetheart, Cassian, rewriting her poetry as his own. Not after she ghosted her first love, River, because she was too scared to follow him across the country. dahlia sky sexually broken
Dahlia pours him tea. They talk until dawn. He doesn’t ask for her number. He doesn’t try to fix her. Dahlia is twenty-eight, backstage at a poetry slam
She deletes the projection. “You broke my trust,” she tells him quietly. “But I won’t break your spirit.” She walks away. The applause follows her like a ghost. But now, Dahlia steps onto the stage mid-sentence
“Those lines are mine,” she says, pulling out her phone. She projects their old texts—his pleading for her drafts, her reluctant sharing. The crowd turns. Cassian sputters. For a moment, victory tastes like honey. But then she sees his face crumble—not with guilt, but with the same desperation she once felt when Leo left. She realizes revenge doesn’t fill the void; it just digs another grave.