Dear Diary,
A quiet evening settled over the streets of London. The lane was empty, only the occasional lamppost spilling a soft amber glow onto the pavement. I stood across from her, and between us lay a yawning chasm, even though we were close enough to see the tremor in her eyelashes.
Do you no longer love me? I asked, already knowing the answer.
Hope is a peculiar thing; it clings on even when reason whispers, Its over.
She didnt meet my gaze. Her fingers nervously toyed with the fringe of the scarf Id given her last winter, the very one that once wrapped us both in laughter. Back then her laugh was the most precious sound Id ever known.
I love you but not as I did before, she said.
Stupid as it sounds, those words stole the breath from me, as if someone had squeezed my throat and was now strangling me slowly and mercilessly.
How? my voice sounded foreign, choked. Like a friend? Like a memory? Like an old song you once sang with heart, now only playing in the background?
Silence.
I remember everything.
I recall the first time she took my hand, as if fearing Id run away. I remember her whispering at night, Youre mine, and how the world seemed endlessly kind then. I remember how we dreamed of travelling, of a cottage by the sea, of children
And now?
Now she looks at me but doesnt see. Its as if Ive become a shadow, a ghost of the past that blocks her way forward.
Why? I ask, my voice trembling. Why do you act like this? Why say you love me when theres no fire left in your eyes? Why plant a kiss on my cheek like a relative, when once your lips blazed like flame?
She flinches.
I didnt mean to hurt you
But you did.
Feelings just fade.
No, I shake my head. Feelings dont just walk away. Theyre betrayed, killed drop by dropby indifference, lies, cowardice.
She turns away. I can see the strain on her, but it offers me no relief. I still love her; she no longer does.
Time passed. A year? Two? I stopped counting. Life trudged onwork, meetings, empty chatter with people who left no mark on my soul. I learned to smile without joy, to laugh without happiness. It seemed the part of me that could truly love had been locked away forever with her.
Then, by some twist of fateor plain coincidenceI saw her again.
In that little café on Brick Lane, at the corner table by the window where we once whispered over candlelight, she sat. The same, yet different. Beside her, a strangers hand rested on her knee, and she laughed, tossing her head back, a sunbeam catching her hair just as it once did for me.
I froze. My heart, which I thought had turned to stone, surged forwardreckless, absurd, defying all sense. It recognized her.
She lifted her eyes.
Our gazes met, and time seemed to stumble.
A flicker rose in her stareperhaps regret, perhaps shame, perhaps just a fleeting memory of something that once was more than a chance encounter.
I couldnt grasp it.
She snapped her gaze away, as if burned, and her fingers instinctively squeezed the other mans hand. She said something, smiledthough the smile now looked strained, almost forced.
And I
I simply walked past.
No hesitation. No looking back. No false hope left for myself.
Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is to leave.
And not look back.
The city remembers, though.
The cobblestones we once ran across in a summer downpour, laughing and tripping. The park bench where she first whispered, Im terrified of losing youironic, isnt it? Even the air in that cursed café still carried the faint scent of her perfumelight, floral, deceptively tender.
I stepped outside. A cold wind slapped my face, just what I neededit dried up what should never have been seen. My phone buzzeda new notification, another empty ping. I pulled it out reflexively; the screen lit up with a Facebook reminder: One year ago. You were here. A photo. Us. Her head on my shoulder, my fingers tangled in her hair.
I switched the phone off.
Delete? a voice called behind me.
I turned.
A waitress, breathless, handed me a black scarf.
You left it, she said with a smile.
It wasnt mine.
I took it anyway. The wool felt soft, almost alive in my palm.
Thank you, I replied.
She then asked something I never expected.
Do you hurt a lot? she asked, childlike and earnest.
I looked at herreally looked. Brown eyes, freckles, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. Genuine.
Before yes, I said honestly.
And now?
I realized I was holding a strangers scarf, someone elses story, someone elses feelings.
Now Im just alive, I said.
She nodded, as if understanding something profound.
Would you like a cup of tea? she offered unexpectedly. Im just finishing my shift.
I laughedtruly, for the first time in months.
Yes, please.
She poured tea into a thick porcelain mugnot the standard glass one, but a chipped, slightly cracked cup with a tiny floral pattern along the rim.
Sugar? she asked, already knowing the answer.
Two cubes, I replied, even though I usually drink it plain.
She smiled, as if catching my little white lie, but said nothing. She dropped two cubes into the mug; they clinked softly against the bottom.
The tea was strong, with a bitter edge, yet exactly what I needed at that moment. I took a sip and realized it was the first time in a year I truly tasted anything.
So, hows it? she leaned against the counter, watching me.
Life, I said. Bittersweet, but Im hoping for a dash of sugar.
She laughed, and just then the kitchen bell rangher shift was truly over.
Will you wait for me at the door? she asked, quickly pulling off her apron. I need to change.
I nodded, watching her slip into the back room. The café was empty save for the bartender lazily polishing glasses. He gave me a assessing look, then winked knowingly.
Emily hardly ever invites anyone for a walk after her shift, he said.
So Im lucky then?
Looks like youre special, he grinned, turning away as if the conversation were closed.
Special. A strange word after everything thats happened.
When Emily emergedno longer in uniform, just jeans and a worn sweater, a damp strand of hair hastily tucked behind her earI suddenly wanted to believe in this.
Shall we go? she asked, shaking her head.
Lets, I said, leaving the money for the tea on the table, which seemed far more than its £2.50 price tag.
Outside, the evening greeted usnot the cold, indifferent night of before, but a new one, brimming with promise.
Where to? Emily asked, her voice echoing the anticipation in my own heart.
I looked up at the first stars flickering awake.
Onward, I said.
We walkednot toward the broken dreams and old photographs wed left behind, but down narrow lanes where lamplight fractured in puddles and the scent of roasted chestnuts mingled with the crisp air.
You know whats odd? Emily said suddenly, hopping over a crack in the pavement. You never asked why I called you.
Because it doesnt matter, I caught her eye. What matters is that I came.
She bit her lip, weighing whether to speak further, then stopped.
I saw you before.
At the café?
No. She pointed to a tiny, peeling bench in a quiet square. Here. You were sitting last autumn, clutching an envelope. Then you tore it up and left.
A cold shiver ran down my spine. That envelopetickets to Venice that we never used.
Why did you remember that?
Because she brushed my hand lightly, you looked like you were losing the last thing you had. That same day I found a stray puppy. I thought the universe had a strange balancesomeone loses, someone finds.
Far off, a church bell tolled. I realized I stood at a crossroadsboth literally and figuratively.
So? I croaked. Who am I now? The loser or the finder?
Emily rose onto her tiptoes, brought her face close enough that I smelled her cherryscented lipstick, then pecked my cheek.
It depends only on you.
In that instant, a single autumn leaf drifted onto my shoulder, like a mark of destiny, or perhaps somewhere else in the city my ex turned at that very second, feeling another fragment of the past slip away forever.
I didnt wait for an answer. I took Emilys hand and led herpast shuttered shops, under bridges, down alleys Id never known.
Are you sure? she giggled.
For the first time in agesyes, I answered.
The streets grew quiet, only the occasional lamppost casting long shadows. Emily walked beside me, her shoulder brushing mine now and thenwhether by chance or not, I didnt ask.
Where now? she whispered, her voice blending with the rustle of fallen 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 forward togetherunhurried, unglancing, unmindful of what lay around the next bend.
Because sometimes the point isnt the destination, but the companion walking beside you.
