Chapter 4: When the Past Refuses to Fade

Her POV

I tell myself I won’t check my phone. That I won’t let him get to me again.

But as the hours pass, I catch myself glancing at the screen, waiting for a reply that never comes.

I shouldn’t be surprised. He was always like this—dropping words that linger, making me question everything, only to disappear before I can even process what they mean.

By evening, I force myself to go out. Staying in my room with my thoughts circling like vultures is dangerous. I need air.

I grab my bag and head to a small cafe a few blocks away, the kind of place where I used to sit for hours, pretending to study while secretly hoping he’d call.

The place hasn’t changed, but I have.

I order a coffee and sit by the window, watching people pass by. It’s comforting, in a way, knowing that the world keeps moving even when my heart feels stuck in place.

Just as I take a sip, I hear laughter from a nearby table.

A familiar voice.

I freeze.

Slowly, I turn my head, and my stomach tightens.

It’s him.

And he’s not alone.

She’s with him. The girl I always suspected, the one I tried so hard to ignore.

They’re sitting close, leaning in as they talk, as if they’re the only two people in the world.

I stare for a second too long.

Because suddenly, his eyes meet mine.

His smile fades.

For a moment, we just look at each other.

And then, he does something that makes my heart drop.

He looks away—like I was never there to begin with.

His POV

I shouldn’t have come here.

I don’t even know why I agreed when my friend dragged me along, saying I needed a break, that I should stop thinking about things I can’t change.

But the moment I walked in, I knew this was a mistake.

And then, I saw her.

She was sitting by the window, looking so lost in thought that I almost convinced myself she wouldn’t notice me.

But she did.

And for the briefest second, I saw something in her eyes that made my chest tighten.

Pain.

I wanted to go to her.

To explain, even though I had no idea what I would say.

But I couldn’t.

Because the truth is, I don’t even understand myself anymore.

So I did what I do best.

I looked away.

Even though every part of me wanted to hold on.

Her POV

I leave the cafe before my coffee even cools.

I don’t care where I’m going—I just need to move, to get away before the tears spill over.

It shouldn’t hurt anymore.

But it does.

Every step feels heavy, like my body is dragging my heart along the pavement.

Why did he look away?

Why didn’t he at least acknowledge me?

Would it have been so hard to just nod, to offer a small sign that I wasn’t just a ghost to him now?

I don’t know how long I walk, but eventually, I find myself at the park. The same park where we used to sit for hours, talking about everything and nothing.

I sit on one of the benches and stare at the sky. The stars are faint, hidden behind the city lights, just like the dreams we once had.

A vibration in my bag pulls me from my thoughts.

I hesitate before pulling out my phone.

It’s him.

Him: "Where are you?"

I stare at the message, my fingers tightening around the device.

He has no right to ask me that.

Not after everything.

Not after pretending I didn’t exist just moments ago.

I want to ignore it.

But I don’t.

Instead, I type a reply.

Me: "Why does it matter?"

A few seconds pass. Then his response comes.

Him: "Because I saw you leave."

I swallow the lump in my throat.

Me: "You also saw me inside that cafe. And you looked away."

This time, it takes longer for him to reply.

I shouldn’t care.

But my heart races anyway.

Finally, his message appears.

Him: "It wasn’t what you think."

A bitter laugh escapes my lips.

Me: "Then tell me. What was it?"

Silence.

Minutes pass.

Then an hour.

And just like always, he disappears when it matters most.

I let out a deep breath and put my phone away.

Maybe it’s time to stop waiting for answers I’ll never get.

His POV

I see her message.

I read it over and over again.

"Then tell me. What was it?"

But I don’t reply.

Because I don’t know how.

I could tell her the truth—that the girl at the cafe means nothing, that she was just talking about work, that I wasn’t even listening.

But would it matter?

Would she believe me?

Would it change anything?

She thinks I looked away because I didn’t care.

But the truth is, I looked away because I cared too much.

Because when I saw the pain in her eyes, I realized how much I had broken her.

And I hate myself for it.

So I do the only thing I know how to do.

I let the message sit unanswered.

And I pretend that silence is easier than the truth.

Her POV

Morning comes, but the ache in my chest doesn’t fade.

I go through the motions of my day—washing my face, eating breakfast, pretending to be fine when I feel anything but.

By the afternoon, I get a message from a friend.

Friend: "Hey, are you free later? Let’s go out."

I hesitate.

I don’t feel like going anywhere, but I know staying home won’t help either.

So I force a smile and reply.

Me: "Yeah, sure."

Later that night, we go to a small bar. It’s not too crowded, but the music is loud enough to drown out my thoughts.

I sip on my drink, nodding along to my friend’s stories, but my mind isn’t really there.

And then, the worst thing happens.

He walks in.

Again.

It’s like the universe won’t give me a break.

This time, he’s alone.

Our eyes meet, and for the first time, he doesn’t look away.

Instead, he starts walking toward me.

My heart pounds.

I brace myself.

For what, I don’t know.

But I have a feeling this moment will change everything.

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