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Catching up with her in more strides than expected, Gilbert caught her by the hand and gently pulled her to him, his gaze as steady as his words. 'Enough. Enough of this running. Enough of this fighting. Enough. Look at me, Anne.'

Anne's eyes reluctantly met his, and she felt an overwhelming urge to pull him to her right then.

'I think you know how I feel about you,' Gilbert said as he caressed her cheek, watching as the wind picked up wisps of copper and gold.

'Oh no,' thought Anne.

'...and I think I know... I mean, I can only hope, but- I think I know.' 'Get on with it, Blythe!' Gilbert's inner voice shouted.

'Anne. Do you love me?'

Gilbert felt the jolt from his question reverberate through both of them. God help him, but he finally had to know.

Anne stared at him in feigned confusion. Had she been so obvious? But, she'd been so careful, hadn't she?

She looked away, avoiding his searching eyes. The mere thought of forming her next words made her mouth taste bitter. She was surprised by how much strength she was needing to say what was feeling so increasingly…unnatural.

'I...I don't lo-' She tried again. 'I don't love you, Gil. Not in the way you want me to.'

She still couldn't look him in the eye. Every inch of her was fighting this, and she tried hard to make herself believe she didn't know why. She yearned to move closer to him. To ease his pain and erase that stricken look off his face.

'No!', she declared inwardly as she squared her shoulders. She was sure of herself. This was how it had to be.

'I see.' Gilbert said stoically. He turned from her then and looked at the sky, seemingly searching for answers. Then, with blazing eyes, he turned to her again.

''So, I've been a fool. What is it, Anne?! Why are you so set against me?'

The moment he spoke those words, he regretted them. He was speaking out of anger, out of jealousy, frustration, out of all the emotions he had bottled up since he was thirteen.

Although he would stake his life on the fact that Anne loved him, the true fact was that he did not know for sure, and he could not force Anne to feel what she did not feel.

Feeling like he'd been punched in the chest, he studied her. Maybe it had been wishful thinking.

Though he knew he couldn't survive it, would he have to let her go?