It was a quiet evening in London. The street was empty, and only the occasional lamppost threw a soft yellow pool onto the damp pavement. I stood there, feeling a yawning gap between us, even though we were close enough that I could see the tremor in the corner of her eye.
Do you love me any longer? I asked, already knowing 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 one we had both laughed over when the cold first settled over the city. Her laughter had once been the most precious sound in my world.
I still love you but not like before, she said.
The words stole my breath as if someone had squeezed my throat and was choking me slowly, mercilessly.
How? My voice sounded foreign, pressed down. Like a friend? Like a memory? Like an old song you used to sing with your whole heart, now only a background tune?
Silence.
I remembered everything.
I recalled how she had first taken my hand, as if fearing I would run away. How she whispered in the night, Youre mine, and those words made the world feel endlessly kind. How we dreamed of traveling, of a house by the sea, of children
And now?
Now she looked at me but didnt see. It was as if I were no longer a man but a shadow, a ghost of the past that hindered her forward steps.
Why? I asked, my voice trembling. Why do you say you love me if theres no fire left in your eyes? Why kiss my cheek like a relative when your lips once burned like flame?
She flinched.
I didnt mean to hurt you
But you did.
Feelings just fade.
No, I shook my head. Feelings dont fade on their own. Theyre betrayed. Theyre killed drop by dropby indifference, lies, cowardice.
She turned away. I could see the weight on her shoulders, but it didnt ease my own ache. I still loved her. She did not.
Time passed.
A year. Two? I stopped counting. Life went 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 love truly was permanently locked away with her.
Then, by some twist of fate, I saw her again.
In the same little café on Brick Lane, at the same window seat where we had once whispered under candlelight, she sat now with a stranger. His arm rested on her knee, and she laughed, tossing her head back, a sunbeam catching her hair just as it once had for me.
I froze.
My heart, long turned to stone, surged forwardabsurd, wild, illogical. It recognized her.
She lifted her eyes.
Our gazes met, and time seemed to stumble.
A fleeting flicker crossed her stareperhaps regret, perhaps shame, perhaps just a brief echo of what we once were.
Before I could grasp it, she averted her eyes, as if burned. Her fingers instinctively squeezed the other mans hand. She whispered something, smiledthough now the smile was tight, strained.
I simply walked past.
I didnt linger. I didnt look back. I gave myself no chance for a false hope.
Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is to walk away, without looking back.
But the city remembered.
The cobblestones where we once ran through a summer rain, laughing and tripping. The bench in the park where she first said, Im scared of losing youironic, isnt it? Even the air in that cursed café still carried her perfumelight, floral, deceptively gentle.
I stepped out onto the street. A cold wind slapped my face, drying the remnants of what should have stayed hidden. My phone buzzeda notification, another empty echo. I pulled it out reflexively, and the screen lit up with a Facebook memory: One year ago. You were here. A photo of usher head on my shoulder, my fingers tangled in her hair.
I switched it off.
Delete?
My finger hovered. A year had become a shard, a splinter, proof that it had all been real.
A voice called from behind.
Hey!
I turned. A waitress from the café hurried over, out of breath, holding a black scarf.
You left this behind, she said, smiling.
It wasnt mine.
But I took it. The wool felt soft, almost alive in my hands.
Thank you, I said.
Then she did something I never expected.
Does it hurt a lot? she asked, childlike and sincere.
I really looked at herbrown eyes, freckles, uncertainty in her tone. She felt genuine.
Yes it did, I answered honestly.
And now?
I realized I was holding a strangers scarf, a strangers story, someone elses emotions.
Now Im just alive, I said.
She nodded, as if understanding something vital.
Would you like a coffee? she offered, surprising me. My shift just ended.
I laughedtruly, for the first time in months.
Yes, Id like that.
She poured the brew into a thick, slightly cracked porcelain mug, not the standard glassware for customers but her own, with a tiny floral pattern around the rim.
Sugar? she asked, already knowing the answer.
Two cubes, I replied, even though I usually drank it black.
She smiled, as if catching my small lie, but said nothing. She dropped the sugar cubes into the cup; they clinked softly against the bottom.
The coffee was strong, with a bitter edge, exactly what I needed at that moment. I took a sip and suddenly realized it was the first time in a year that I truly tasted anything.
So? she propped herself against the counter, watching me.
Like life, I said. Bitter, but with hope for something sweet.
She laughed, and just then her shift ended, the bell above the door chimed.
Will you wait for me at the exit? she asked, pulling off her apron. I need to change.
I nodded, watching her slip into the backroom. The café was empty now, only the bartender lazily polishing glasses. He shot me a evaluating glance, then winked knowingly.
Poppy rarely invites anyone out after her shift, he said.
Does that make me lucky? I asked.
Youre special, he replied with a grin, turning away.
Special. An odd word after everything that had happened.
When Poppy emergedno longer in uniform but in plain jeans and a stretched sweater, a damp lock of hair tucked behind her earI suddenly wanted to believe in this moment.
Shall we go? she asked, shaking her head.
Lets, I said, leaving the money for the coffee on the table, a sum that felt far more than its price.
Outside, the evening greeted usnot the cold, indifferent night Id known before, but a new one, full of promise.
Where to? Poppy asked, her voice carrying the same restless eagerness I felt.
I looked up, at the first stars blinking into existence.
Forward, I said.
And we walkednot back toward broken dreams and old photographs, but down narrow lanes where lamp light shattered in puddles and the scent of roasted chestnuts mingled with the cool air.
You know whats odd? Poppy said suddenly, leaping over a cracked slab of asphalt. You never asked why I called you.
Because it doesnt matter, I replied, catching her eye. What matters is that I came.
She bit her lip, as if weighing whether to speak further, then stopped.
I saw you before, she said.
In 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 wave ran down my spine. The envelope. The tickets to Venice we never took.
Why did you remember that?
Because She brushed my palm 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.
Distant church bells rang. I suddenly realized I stood at a crossroadsboth literal and metaphorical.
So? I croaked. Who am I now? The one who loses or the one who finds?
Poppy rose onto her tiptoes, brought her face close enough that I could smell her cherrysweet lipstick, then planted a gentle kiss on my cheek.
It depends only on you.
In that instant one of two things happened: either an autumn leaf fell on my shoulder, a mark of fate, or somewhere in the city my former love turned at the same moment, feeling another fragment of the past slip away forever.
I didnt wait for an answer. I took Poppys hand and led her onwardpast closed shops, under bridges, through alleys Id never known.
Are you sure? she giggled.
For the first time in agesyes.
The streets were empty, only the occasional streetlamp casting long shadows on the pavement. Poppy walked beside me, her shoulder brushing mine now and then, a silent question I didnt need to ask.
Where now? she whispered, her voice blending with the rustle of fallen leaves.
I stared ahead, at the dark ribbon of road disappearing between sleeping houses.
I dont know. Just lets keep walking.
She nodded, and we stepped togetherunhurried, unlooking, unmindful of what lay ahead.
Because sometimes the most important thing isnt the destination, but the person who walks beside you.
