I shut the door of the flat Id shared with Emma for ten years and breathed in deeply. The divorce had been long, painful and, by now, inevitable. We were exhausted by the constant fights, the misunderstandings, by a love that had long since turned into habit.
Alright then, Im free, I muttered to myself as I walked down the stairwell.
Emma stood by the window, watching my silhouette disappear into the courtyard. Her heart ached, but she bit back the tears. Its for the best, she kept telling herself.
A decade ago everything had been different.
The first year was pure magic. We roamed the streets until dawn, could barely stop talking, laughed at the silliest things. I slipped love notes into the pockets of her coat. Emma woke me with breakfast, getting up an hour earlier just for me. We believed it would last forever.
Then the ordinary life set inwork, bills, fatigue. I, once a romantic dreamer, began to speak less and stay quiet. Emma, who could previously sit for hours listening to my musings about the meaning of life, now snapped, Not another philosophical rant, please.
Arguments crept in unnoticed. At first they were over trivial things: forgetting to take out the rubbish, missing an anniversary, blasting music too loudly. Soon they grew seriousmoney, unmet expectations, unfulfilled dreams.
Youve stopped listening to me! Emma shouted.
And you even hear me? I snapped back.
Even on the toughest days we caught ourselves thinking, We still love each other. Late at night, when sleep evaded us, wed talkno anger, just the way we used to. It felt as if we could still fix things.
But weariness won.
Now I was descending the stairs, and she watched me go, both of us thinking the same thing:
How did we end up here?
Three months later Id moved into a tiny flat on the outskirts of Manchester. It seemed I finally had everything Id wanted: quiet, freedom, no more arguments. Yet each morning I still rose at six and reflexively reached for Emmas side of the bed.
Emma stayed in the apartment wed shared. She threw away my old toothbrush, rearranged the furniture and promised herself things would change. Still, as night fell she found herself waiting for the click of a key in the lock.
Our accidental meeting
We bumped into each other in a supermarket. I turned at the cereal aisle and accidentally nudged a trolley.
Sorry I began, looking up, then fell silent.
Standing there was Emma, no makeup, in an oversized sweater, a box of my favourite ginger biscuits in hand.
You used to hate those, I said foolishly.
Are you still buying that cheap pasta? she asked, nodding at my basket.
A pause stretched between us. We both knew we should simply say goodbye and walk away, yet our feet wouldnt move.
Hows life? I finally forced out.
Fine, Emma replied, a hint of a lie in her tone.
We stood like that for a minute or two until an elderly lady behind us hissed, Young people, are you going to block the aisle forever?
I stepped aside.
Alright take care.
You too, she answered.
When I got home, the first thing I did was pull out my phone.
Remember our first trip to Blackpool? You were so angry you left the towels behind
I hesitated, then hit send.
She replied two minutes later:
I remember. And I also remember what we used instead of those towels.
I laughed. Wed spent a whole day on the beach wrapped in my old Tshirts.
Tomorrow at seven, our café. Will you come? I typed, the message blinking typing
Ill be there, she wrote.
A new beginning.
The café was the same place, but it felt different. Same walls, the same scent of fresh coffee, yet at the window table sat not two starcrossed lovers but two cautious people with bruises on their hearts.
I arrived fifteen minutes early, drumming my fingers nervously on the table. When the door swung open and a chill autumn wind swept in with Emma, my heart clenched painfully. She looked as beautiful as ever in that sweater Id once given her for her birthday, her hair slightly ruffled by the wind.
Youre early, she noted, taking a seat opposite me.
And youre fashionably late, as usual, I replied, my voice no longer edged with irritation, just a warm, tired smile.
We fell silent. In the hush, every unsaid word, every grievance, every whispered sorry hovered between us.
Why did you buy those biscuits? I asked suddenly. You cant stand them.
Emma lowered her eyes, tracing the rim of her cup with a finger.
I got used to them. Ten years I slipped them into your basket I didnt even realise Id taken them.
I exhaled deeply.
I still wake at six and reach for you out of habit. But youre not there
We locked eyes and suddenly understoodwed been living as ghosts of each other.
We were foolish, Emma whispered. We thought wed fallen out of love.
We didnt fall out of love, I corrected. We just forgot how it feels to love.
I reached across the table, my hand hovering. She hesitated for a heartbeat before placing her palm in mine.
Lets try again, I murmured. Only this time we know what not to do.
From scratch? she asked.
No, I shook my head. Not from scratch. With all the baggage, the mistakes, the history we share. Just differently.
What does differently look like? she pressed.
I thought for a moment. In my eyes flickered something newno longer youthful exuberance, but a steady, hardwon confidence.
It means Ill stop pretending I dont enjoy your ridiculous medical drama series, I said. And youll stop getting mad when I fall asleep after the third episode.
It means youll take out the rubbish without me reminding you, she replied, a faint grin on her lips.
And youll let me leave my socks under the bed.
Never! Emma laughed, then her expression grew serious. But Ill try not to scream about them.
Silence settled. Outside, rain felljust like on the day we first met.
Differently also means well argue, but we wont end up sleeping in separate rooms, I added quietly.
When I stop hoarding grudges and you stop shutting yourself away.
I brushed my other hand over hers.
It means remembering that over all these years no one else has ever made us laugh the way we laugh at each other.
Emma intertwined her fingers with mine.
Its scary.
Very, I agreed. But Im more scared of waking up in a world without you.
The waiter brought the bill. We stepped outside. The rain stopped. In the distance a faint, hazy rainbow appearednot brilliant, but real, just like our love. Not a fairytale, not perfect, but the sort of thing that makes getting out of bed worthwhile.
Shall we go home? I asked.
Lets, Emma replied.
Our steps fell into the same rhythmuneven, seasoned, but ours. This time, for good.
