We were so happy, werenât we?â she said. There wasnât an ounce of bitterness in the lines of her thin smile, only wistfulness and perhaps a slight tinge of regret.
He looked at her then, his index finger absently circling the rim of the coffee cup he was holding, a habit she knew he had whenever he was nervous.
"You still do that,â she said off-handedly.
He stopped abruptly and looked away, eyebrows knitting together, as if he couldnât quite understand what he was doing here, or why.
âSay something,â she whispered and in her voice contained every unanswered question, every unfinished business between the two of them, the air growing thick with it.
âI donât know what to say,â he said, still looking outside the window. He clenched his jaw, and willed himself to meet her gaze. âI donât want to hurt you more than I already have.â
Air rushed out of her, and her heart faltered. For a while they just sat there and both knew, in the seconds that followed they remembered everything they went through together, - all the love, trials, frustrations, dreams shared, laughter they drew out of each other, all the tears they wiped tenderly off each otherâs faces - and the heartbreak of it all.
She blinked. He held his breath. Her eyes went soft, her lips turning upward into the saddest of smiles.
âI loved you so very much, you know.â She said in the softest voice. Her hand reached out to lightly touch his, her thumb caressing the rough skin on his palm⊠an act of forgiveness.
And with that, she stood up and walked away.
She didnât even see the tears that fell from his eyes as he forced himself not to grab her.
âStayâ, he wanted to say.
But he didnât.