27October2025
A quiet evening settled over the streets of London. The lane was empty, only a few streetlamps throwing amber pools onto the cobbles. I stood there, the space between us feeling like a yawning chasm, though we were so close I could see the tremor in the fringe of her lashes.
Do you no longer love me? I asked, already hearing the answer.
Hope, however, is a stubborn thing. It lingers even when the mind whispers, Its over.
She didnt meet my gaze. Her fingers fidgeted with the fringe of the scarf I had given her last winter, the very one wed laughed over when the world seemed a brighter place.
I love you but not as I used to, she said.
It sounded absurd, yet those words stole my breath as if a hand were slowly strangling my throat.
How? My voice came out flat, as if someone else were speaking through me. Like a friend? Like a memory? Like an old song you once sang with feeling, now only background noise?
Silence.
I remembered everything.
The first time she took my hand, frightened she might let me slip away. The night she whispered, Youre mine, and the world seemed immeasurably generous. The dreams we shared of travelling, of a cottage by the sea, of children
And now?
Now she looks at me but does not truly see. I am a shadow, a ghost of the past that blocks her path forward.
Why? I asked, my voice trembling. Why say you love me when there is no fire left in your eyes? Why plant a kiss on my cheek like a relatives, when once your lips were a blaze?
She flinched.
I never meant to hurt you
But you did.
Feelings just drift away.
No, I shook my head. Feelings dont just leave. They are betrayed, killed drop by dropby indifference, by lies, by cowardice.
She turned away. I could see her struggle, yet it offered me no relief. I still loved her; she did not.
Time passed. A year, perhaps twoI stopped counting. Life went on: work, meetings, hollow chatter with people who left no imprint on my soul. I learned to smile without joy, to laugh without mirth. It seemed the part of me that could love truly had been buried forever with her.
Then, by some twist of fate, I saw her again.
In the same little tea room on Kings Road, at that corner table by the window where we once whispered over candlelight, she sat with a stranger. His arm rested lightly on her knee, and she laughed, throwing her head back as a sunbeam danced through her hair.
I froze.
My heart, which had felt as stone for months, suddenly lunged forwardreckless, absurd, utterly irrational. It recognized her.
She lifted her eyes. Our gazes met, and time seemed to stumble.
A flicker of somethingperhaps remorse, perhaps shamecrossed her stare. Or maybe just the brief echo of what we once had.
Before I could process, she snapped her gaze away, as if burned. Her fingers clenched the strangers hand. She said something, smilednow a strained, forced smile.
I simply walked past.
I didnt linger. I didnt turn back. I gave myself no false hope.
Because sometimes the strongest thing you can do is walk away and not look back.
The city, however, remembered.
The cobblestones where we once ran through a summer downpour, laughing and tripping. The bench in HydePark where she first whispered, Im afraid of losing youhow fitting, isnt it? Even the air in that cursed tea room still smelled of her perfumelight, floral, deceptively gentle.
I stepped outside. A cold wind slapped my face, drying the remnants of what should never have been seen. My phone buzzedanother empty notification. I pulled it out mechanically; the screen lit up with a Facebook reminder: One year ago. You were here. A photograph. Us. Her head resting on my shoulder, my fingers tangled in her hair.
I switched the phone off.
Delete? a voice called from behind.
I turned. A waitress, breathless, handed me a black scarf.
You left it behind, she said with a smile.
It wasnt mine, but I took it. The wool felt soft, almost alive in my hands.
Thank you, I replied.
She asked gently, almost childlike, Does it hurt?
I looked at hertruly looked. Brown eyes, freckles, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. Real.
Yes, it did, I admitted.
And now?
I realized I was holding someone elses story, someone elses grief.
NowIm just alive, I said.
She nodded, as if she understood something vital.
Would you like a coffee? she offered unexpectedly. Im just finishing my shift.
I laugheda genuine laugh, the first in months.
Yes, please.
She poured the brew into a thick, slightly cracked porcelain mug, its handle chipped, a faint floral pattern at the rim. She asked, Sugar?
Two cubes, I said, even though I usually take it black.
She placed the cubes with a soft clink, a tiny rebellion against the lie Id told myself. The coffee was strong, a bitter aftertaste, exactly the kind I needed at that moment. I took a sip and realized it was the first time in a year that I truly tasted anything.
How is it? she asked, leaning against the counter, watching me.
Like life, I replied. Bitter, but with a hope for sweetness.
She laughed, and just then, the kitchen bell rangher shift was truly over.
Will you wait for me at the door? she asked, slipping off her apron. Ill change.
I nodded, watching her disappear into the back room. The café was empty save for the bartender who lazily polished glasses. He gave me a evaluating glance, then winked.
Ethel hardly ever asks anyone out after her shift, he remarked.
So Im lucky? I asked.
Youre special, he smiled, turning away.
Special. An odd word after everything that had happened.
When Ethel emergedno uniform, just jeans and an oversized sweater, a damp lock of hair hastily tucked behind her earI felt a sudden belief in possibility.
Shall we go? she asked, shaking her head.
Lets, I said, leaving a few pounds on the tablemore than the coffee cost, but it felt right.
Outside, the evening was no longer the cold, indifferent one Id known. It was a new night, full of promise.
Where to? Ethel asked, her voice echoing the impatience in my own heart.
I looked up at the first stars igniting above the Thames.
Forward, I said.
We walkednot back to the broken dreams and old photographs, but down narrow lanes where lamp light fractured in puddles and the scent of roasted chestnuts mingled with the crisp air.
You know whats odd? Ethel said suddenly, hopping over a crack in the pavement. You never asked why I called you here.
Because it doesnt matter, I caught her gaze. What matters is that I came.
She bit her lip, considering, then stopped.
I saw you before, she said.
At the café? I prompted.
No, she pointed to a weathered bench on a small square. Here. You were sitting last autumn, clutching an envelope. You tore it up and left.
A cold wave ran down my spine. That envelopetickets to Venice that we never took.
Why remember that? I asked.
Because you looked like you were losing the last thing you had, she whispered, fingertips brushing my palm. Id just found a stray puppy that day. The universe has a strange balancesomeone loses, someone finds.
The church bells tolled in the distance. I realized I stood at a crossroadsboth literal and figurative.
And now? I croaked. Am I the one who loses or the one who finds?
Ethel rose onto tiptoes, pressed her face close enough that I could smell her cherrytoned lipstick, then planted a quick kiss on my cheek.
It depends only on you, she said.
In that instant either an autumn leaf fell on my shoulder, a mark of fate, or somewhere else my former lover turned, feeling another piece of the past snap away.
I didnt wait for an answer. I took Ethels hand and led us past shuttered shops, under bridges, through hidden alleys.
Are you sure? she laughed.
For the first time in agesyes.
The streets were empty, streetlamps casting long shadows on the slick pavement. Ethels shoulder brushed mine now and then, accidental or not, but I didnt ask.
Where now? she whispered, her voice blending with the rustle of leaves.
I stared ahead, down the dark ribbon of road winding between sleeping houses.
I dont know. Just lets keep walking.
She nodded, and we stepped togetherslowly, without looking back, without worrying about what lay around the next bend.
Because sometimes the most important thing isnt the destination, but the person walking beside you.
