“I’m having fun watching the moon with you, Lils.” Your breath fanned her neck, and she found comfort in it. The close proximity between you both spoke in a language you both understood—it didn’t need translating. Just as you clung to her for warmth, she wrapped her arms around you for security.

Lilia gazed at the moon, lovingly so. She always seemed to look at it with great admiration. You picked your head up from off her shoulder to look at the moon again; its many craters scrutinized under your curious gaze. Lilia’s arm moved from your shoulder to your hip, and you found her hand to connect your fingers together. She responded in kind by affirming your touch. You turned to look at her. And how beautiful she looked.

You brought the back of her hand to your lips—gently placing a kiss on it. She seemed to be somewhat surprised but not quite—as if she should’ve expected it to begin with. You met her eyes and planted another kiss, this time on her wrist, as you brought her hand to cup your cheek. Her eyes swirled with affection and adoration.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you more,” she replied, idly drawing strokes on your cheek.

You smiled at her touch, basking yourself in her love. You softly pulled away from her touch and nestled your face in her neck again. The gentleness of the moment set in between you both, and your heart fuzzed with endearment. Without much thought, you planted a kiss on the side of her neck. Lilia’s breath stiffened, and you could feel the slight beat of her quickened pulse. Her temperature became warmer, and you couldn’t help but giggle a little. She didn’t comment, watching the moon more intently. You felt the need to pull her leg a bit more, planting a kiss on her cheek.

She turned to look at you as if to say, “Stop it,” but there was no mistaking the pink that tinted her cheeks. The pale moonlight above only ever made her look more ethereal than before—something that never failed to steal your breath. Lilia Calderu never failed to steal your breath.

To break you away from your thoughts, Lilia cupped your cheek once more—this time planting a kiss atop your nose. You jump from your skin a little. A little embarrassed, you bury your face in her neck to avoid her loving eyes; the rise in her temperature made her warmer than before.

“I love you,” she whispered in undying love.

“I love you more.”

The commotions grew louder, reminding her of the upcoming festival the locals had been so keen about. Her eyes landed on her bedside table, clinging to a far-off place of comfort, but it had remained void with no decoration to fill it. Void like the heart that lived inside her.

Regret washed over her like an inevitable tide, and the cold sheets clung to her skin, as if to whisper, “Don’t leave.” And she felt it creep—conniving voices that led to a helpless cycle of drowning in a quiet sorrow. And while the excited screaming outside her house helped ground her, the empty yet raging emotions she felt worked twice as hard to keep her on a tight rein.

She knew she had to get up. She was a part of the volunteer work no matter how much she saw no point in it. Trying, she opened her heavy eyes, and just then did she see the lit candle she kept in the corner of her room say hello to her. It swayed in an unwavering dance while the wax beneath it melted. Observing the point where darkness and light met, she watched it fervently. The subtle gradient connecting the blinding glow and the bounding shadows resonated with her. And maybe, just maybe, she will find strength to move from the shadows to the dancing candlelight.

Lilia found herself walking side-by-side an overzealous event coordinator. She merely pressed her lips to a thin line, tuning out from the narrations of this annual event’s meaningful history. Instead, her eyes wandered to the trimmed shrubs, flashy decor, and hurrying passersby. It was tradition for everyone to contribute to the event, however little, as she had been told. And she knew what that implied.

Lilia wasn’t unaware of the murmurs in the street. She wasn’t unaware of the pitying looks. She wasn’t unaware of how they saw her—a lonely, old broad. Now, “old,” she didn’t mind. She deemed herself as ancient as antiques and took great pride in it. There was great pleasure hidden in wisdom old. “Lonely,” however, left her biting the cold sting that swallowed her whole.

Old and lonely. The way it’s said with such callousness is enough to drive anyone up a wall, especially when it served as a reminder to someone she wished to forget. Even now, she wasn’t unaware of the pathetic looks the event coordinator gave her. Lilia gave a tight smile as she contemplated finding a different place to settle down. Nothing stopped her the last time.

Somewhere between history talk and keen info dumping, they had reached the asphalt in which the bakery stood loud and proud, juxtaposed with such humble decor—a “Bakery” sign simply stood there. No design. No decor. No embellishment. Lilia took note to offer some door beads, at the very least

The smell a mix of baked goods and raw ingredients pervaded through the warm air and hit Lilia’s nostrils invitingly. She loosened her tight hold on her cardigan—the warmth getting to her.

“Hello!” A buzzing, gruff voice spoke the minute the door chime rang.

“Hi!” The overzealous event coordinator spoke in turn, motioning at Lilia. “This is Lilia! She’ll be volunteering to decorate the cakes today!”

Now the word “volunteering” did not apply to Lilia. She was told it was "mandatory." And Lilia struggled not to let out a scoff.

“Ah! Lilia! The new person in town, right?” She said thoughtfully, finger on her chin.

Lilia gave a half-smile, busy thinking how she could grant herself an out on this one. The closer she got to the task at hand, the harder she wished she had chosen somewhere else to stay instead.

“People call me Mrs. Cornett, but you are more than welcome to call me Ella.” She grinned, waving goodbye to the event coordinator.

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

It wasn’t long after that Mrs. Cornett showed Lilia the ropes. While she’d only ever be decorating baked goods, in Mrs. Cornett’s words, it never hurts to know more than you need to. Lilia didn’t quite agree with that statement, finding the art of being oblivious more favorable than being aware. Even when that obliviousness was nothing more than a facade. It was safer. Predictable. A learned dance.

An array of confectionaries furnished the counters of the pastry kitchen, waiting to be dressed up prettily. Mrs. Cornett explained that she’d be running to the grocery to get more ingredients. In her absence, however, another volunteer could show up, so she requested Lilia show them around. Nodding, Lilia bid her goodbye, her tense shoulders relaxing. And signaled by the resounding door chime, she was alone like she wanted—no, needed.

Eyeing the delicacies that stood before her, she took one of the ready piping bags sitting on the counter and started to bring some color to an otherwise blonde cake. But the moment the icing touched the cake, it sent Lilia back to a scene she wished she could forget. A place that brought up such passionate feelings. A time when colors so vibrant were her normal.

“Lils!” A voice so clear rang in the back of her mind.

 And just like habit, she fell deeper into her landmine of questions, a lump growing in her throat. Questions always arose. Questions she herself should know the answer to. Questions like why she left. Why she was so scared. And though a part of her knew why, she feigned ignorance. And when she’d let these burning questions pull her under just long enough, she’d disregard them and repeat this process like a broken record player.

But her thoughts never stopped at just questions.

When she recalled the scene in her bedroom—her being tucked comfortably in her bed, you gazing at her adoringly—she felt the weight of words when you had confessed quite softly. It came in the form of Valentine's. And although eight letters haven't been said, she could feel it emanating from you. She could always feel it emanating from you.

While her heart skipped a beat in delight, a sickening old friend tapped her by the shoulder—fear—as if “I love you” was a humiliating, malignant phrase, stripping her soul bare. So she ran.

But it caught up to her.

She knew that.

How she spent every waking hour recalling your face.

How she hadn't changed the habit of leaving the door unlocked.

How she hopelessly searched in the sea of laughs, hoping she would find you.

Maybe if she wasn’t so terrified, the outcome would’ve been different.

Fleeing wasn't a new concept to her. She had done it before, so she should be able to do it again with practiced ease. She figured she just needed more time. She could spare a few years; it would simply pass by in the blink of an eye. Her life span was longer than that of humans, after all.

But with that thought in mind, a deep sense of longing enveloped her in a weighted hug. How she wished she could see you. How she wished she could hug you. How she wished you were here. What she would give to love you again.

When she snapped out of her trance, she realized the icing had dripped down to the counter and the floor. It irked her as she wrinkled her brow in irritation.

"What a mess," she grumbled.

The door softly squeaked behind her, and that added on to her growing frustration, not bothering to greet who she assumed was another volunteer. She stood there, observing the awful mess while holding the piping bag in her hand.

"Lils..." The person behind her said breathlessly. But it was said with so much familiarity. So much care. So much love. And the way it had been said sent a mix of butterflies and ache her way.

Lilia's eyes lit up as she swiftly turned around, almost as if to catch something that could disappear in a moment.

"It couldn't be."

And there, she was greeted by the one she longed for.

You stood there with tears welling up in your eyes. And she herself couldn't believe it.

“Lils,” you laughed, almost as if to find humor, “the icing goes on top.”

< previous chapter

One.

Two.

Three.

You held your breath, half-expecting languid footsteps to shift behind the front door.

No sound came.

You sighed. It was within your foresight that this could happen.

"Lilia..." you trailed, testing the name you haven't said in weeks. "Um, it's me, Y/N."

You strained your ear to give the dense air a listen.

Nothing.

"Look, I know that it's awkward right now, and..." Your breath caught. "I don't blame you. But can we talk? Please?"

Listening harder to catch a hint of her presence, you pressed your body closer to the door, and it flew open, taking you with it. You tried to regain your footing by instinctively reaching for a wall, but by then, your loss of balance was the least of your concerns. The warmth of lit candles didn’t creep into your skin, nor did the aroma of baked goods hit your nose. Your heart fell first before your mind could catch up. Lifting your head to look around Lilia’s place, you found yourself to be greeted by darkness.

Cold, unnerving darkness.

Quickly flipping the light switch on with great familiarity, your eyes roamed to the living room in search of Lilia—frantically. Portraits she had hung up were stripped bare from the walls. Candles were a sea of snaste. Trinkets she had displayed were missing.

And for a moment, you wished you hadn't gone inside.

Your legs moved before your mind could object. You caught sight of the various changes in her house. What was once so lively and colorful was reduced to remnants of her touch: the kitchen no longer had her favorite teas shelved alphabetically. The dining room table was no longer dressed in a florid tablecloth. And the closer you approached her bedroom door, the more a sinking feeling gnawed at you. As if by instinct, you already knew what you would see. Even if you didn’t realize it.

You hesitantly pushed open the door, scanning the room. The mattress was exposed. The closet doors were fully opened to reveal few clothes inside it. The vanity had perfume bottles flipped to its side, almost to signify a hurried rifling.

A slow, heavyweight emotion tugged at your heart before it translated to the pit in your stomach. Then, your eyes landed on the picture frame on her bedside table. A picture where you both had your noses crinkled in laughter with frosting on both of your noses. The presence of it should have been comforting, but it wasn't. For it meant only one thing: she had left it behind.

Among the sea of treasures she loved oh-so-much, she had left it behind.

“What are you doing?” a groggy voice spoke from behind you.

You whipped your head in her direction, having just taken out a baked cake from the oven. Your eyes widened, immediately checking the clock hanging on the wall, which read 4:51 AM.

“Lilia!” you said, sounding upset, “You’re supposed to be sound asleep!”

She let out a small laugh, finding amusement in your blatant frustration. She started coming closer, lazily dragging her feet across the tiled floor before you held your hand up in defiance. She raised an eyebrow, and you furrowed yours.

“It’s your birthday! You shan’t pass,” you said, taking on a faux-authoritative tone.

Wearing a dopey smile, the kind that never failed to make your heart flutter, she stepped closer—an act of defiance. You pulled the baking pan to the far edge of the counter to tell Lilia you weren’t interested in her help—a gesture she didn’t miss.

“Oh, darling, must I remind you that you’re in my house using my kitchen?” Her tone was patronizing, and you squinted your eyes to come up with a comeback but failed to think of any, leaving your mouth hanging open. You huffed out in frustration, and she laughed in amusement.

“Stop laughing!”

The last of her laughter died down, and a smile replaced it. Though her hair was still untamed, having just woken up, you couldn’t help but admire just how… pretty she looked. For a moment, you stood there simply admiring her while she gazed at the freshly baked cake.

“Well, now the silence is a bit much,” you said awkwardly.

“It’s sweet.”

“What’s sweet?”

“This.”

Her eyes took in the sight of her kitchen. What was once an organized haven was reduced to a chaotic mess. Cupboards and cabinets were flung wide open, dishes were piled up in the sink with signs of multiple failed batches of batter, and your apron—her apron, rather—was covered in streaks of icing. Her eyes trailed to the bowl of vibrant yellow icing standing between the two of you.

“Hey, hey, stop looking at the mess,” you warned, knowing how uptight she becomes with disorganization.

"Mmm..." she hummed, taking in the scene in front of her. You could make out the slight twitch of her eyebrows, as if estimating the amount of work needed to clean up the mess, but at the same time, a hint of fondness sparked underneath her pressing gaze.

The thumping of your ever-so-active heart added to your growing nervousness. You tried to still it, afraid she could hear the relentless beats amid the silence.

And so you spoke.

"You should go back to sleep. The birthday girl has to reap the benefits of a surprise, okay?" you joked, comically puffing your chest with pride.

She couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm afraid to tell you that it isn't much of a surprise anymore, baby," she teased.

"Pretend for the bit."

"What bit?" she asked, confused.

"This bit!" You quickly dipped your finger in the yellow frosting and smeared some on her nose, catching her off guard. You had to stifle your giggles; the sight of Lilia having a yellow-dotted nose with her mouth hanging wide open too amusing for you to handle. She stood there shocked for a second before regaining her composure.

"Oh, you...!"

You immediately dashed to the other side of the counter as Lilia dipped her finger into the frosting, a look of vengeance crossing her face.

"Lilia, don't!" you warned, though you were laughing.

"Oh, I will."

"Don't!" She circles over to your side of the counter as you dash to where you both were standing before. "Lilia, I'm telling you, don't!"

"Oh, c'mon, baby."

Both of you were at a standstill for a moment, as if waiting for the other to move. Suddenly, a light bulb goes on in her head—an innocent smile crossing her face. Too innocent that it could be deemed wicked. And suddenly, you felt a soft and subtle hold on your foot. You whipped your head to check what it was, but you could only make out a faint glow—color yellow.

You immediately looked at Lilia, who was making her way towards you, taking her sweet ol' time making that turn around the kitchen counter.

"Lilia, you crazy, crazy woman," you muttered. "This is unfair!" You tried to peel your foot off the floor, trying your best to defy the force of magic, but to no avail.

And she, finally, stood before you. With her icing-covered finger.

"Most things in life are unfair, baby." Slight pause, leaning forward just a tiny bit. In this angle, you can clearly see her icing-covered nose, and your initial faux annoyance was replaced by stifled giggles. "But I know when it comes to me, you love it."

Your heartbeat quickened.

"I love many things. Like, say, oatmeal, cake, chocolate. Sugar, mostly,” you said, pointing at your fingers to sell the funny act.

"Then I'm sure you'll love this."

Smudge.

Well, you've been icing'd.

The magic restraint on your foot dissipated, and you both just stood there silently staring into each other's eyes—looks of admiration meeting each other.

“Well, it’s time to actually put icing on the cake, don’t you think?” Lilia teased.

You bit back a laugh, which translated to a scoff, knowing your nose now has icing on it. “Yeah, yeah, sure, Lils. Whatever makes the birthday girl happy.”

And for the rest of the day, you both tried to cover the cake in icing. Though it wasn’t done without a share of clumsiness, you both managed. And when you were finally done, with noses crinkled in laughter, you snapped a photo to preserve the memory at Lilia’s insistence.

You had thought it could only ever be better from there.

How wrong you were.

A few months had passed after Lilia’s birthday, and you both delicately balanced between the shifts of platonic affections to that of something more. It was a dance you both didn’t quite understand. But it felt right—to an extent.

Though no one mentioned a word and though no one seemed to notice, everyone felt the difference. The touches lingering for far too long, the sweetened chuckles of inside jokes, and the constant handholding. And though you both felt it was right, one of you made the mistake of directly pursuing the other. To pursue love.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Come in,” a gentle voice spoke from the other side.

You gently opened the door, and you were immediately greeted by the deep aroma of florals emanating from the lit candles. Lilia was lazily flipping through pages of a book while being comfortably seated on her bed. Smiling, you approached her bedside, catching sight of the framed birthday photo.

“What brings you here, baby?” she asked, yawning midway.

“Just wanted to see you.” You smiled.

“Oh, isn’t that right?” she cheekily replied, glancing up at you.

“Affirmative.” You winked, laughing.

Silence fell between the both of you. The occasional page-flipping of hers filled the air while you traced the edges of her bedside table. And during this comfortable silence, you tried to find the courage to ask.

“Say, Lilia?”

“Hm?” she replied, still reading the book.

“Do you want to go out on Valentine’s Day together?”

Lilia’s fingers stiffened, pausing in the beat. Her face froze and her eyes widened. You bit your lip in nervousness. Your heart kept beating and beating and beating, and you wished nothing more than for it to calm down. She suddenly let out a laugh to ease the tension, but you sensed nervousness beneath it. And you couldn’t quite tell whether it be a good or bad thing.

“Careful, baby.” Again with that teasing tone of hers. “It sure sounds a lot like you’re asking me out.”

“What if I am?”

This time, her whole body tensed. Color left her face, and you knew you had said something wrong. You wanted to reach out to her, but you didn’t quite know if that felt right.

Heavy, immediate silence followed. But this time, it didn’t feel comfortable. It felt like the opposite. And you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

Lilia took a deep breath then spoke firmly. “Please leave.”

“Huh?” you said rather clumsily.

“Leave.”

“What?” Your body grew cold. “Surely you don’t—“

“Don’t speak for me, Y/N.” She glared your way, her fingers digging into her book. “Leave.”

Your hands reached out but only midway, afraid any sort of contact would anger Lilia. “I’m sorry, Lilia, I really am. I just—“

“Must I repeat myself?” Her voice cracked, and tears welled in her eyes.

And that made your heart fall. Because underneath her tense and avoidant behavior, you noticed fear written on her face. When she noticed hurt coloring your face, her hand instinctively reached out but stopped midway and looked to her side, biting her lip.

Your mind blanked out.

You shouldn't have said anything.

But how else to reach the human heart if not through words?

With color drained from your face, you found yourself walking out, going wherever your feet decided to take you. Time passed, and you figured you should wait until Lilia reaches out first. But a few days had turned to weeks.

And you found yourself seated atop what was once her bed.

You let out a hic. Only then did you realize that you had been crying. Streams of tears slid down your cheeks, and your shoulders moved upward involuntarily when you gasped for air. The shadow of Lilia echoed in this house. Memories resurfaced wherever you looked. Countless nights spent in this very place, exchanging jokes and laughs, and finding solace in each other. You let out a dry laugh, recalling once warm memories.

You reached for the framed photo, delicately tracing the corners. You looked at the happy photo once more—yellow icing on both noses, noses crinkled in laughter, and a cake that had seen better days. She had once treasured it so. But she left it. Just like that. And maybe it was just as easy to leave you behind. Because for Lilia, the crime of falling in love was a far graver crime than it was to simply flee from it. So maybe, for now, you’ll sit here waiting—waiting for when the grip of love completely drowns you out cold.

next chapter >

She met your eyes, and it told you something weighed on her mind. And that was more than enough to tell you that you wouldn’t like what she was going to tell you next. And she herself knew you’d find the idea distressing.

“I feel as if I have to go, baby,” she softly said, taking your hand in hers.

“For what reason?” You snapped. She took her time to breathe in and out.

“A faint memory from the reading I did with Agatha,” she started, meeting your eyes. “I don’t quite remember what it is, but something tells me I have to go, baby.”

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head. “For that witch? I’d understand if it was some damsel in distress but Agatha Harkness?!” She squeezed your hand—her eyes filled with utmost fervor. You took a moment to collect yourself.

“Lilia…,” you sighed, shoulders slumping. “It’s dangerous to go on The Road. You know that better than I do.”

“I know, baby. I know. But something tells me…” she trailed off.

Your gaze softened, swallowing the growing lump in your throat. Torn between keeping your lover safe and allowing her to go, you tucked a loose curl behind her ear and cupped her cheek. “If you feel that you need to go… go.”

She gave you a small smile and embraced you in a tight hug. You felt as if something heavy had been placed on your shoulders, but you tried not to think too much of it. “Do not be reckless, Lilia. Prioritize your own safety.”

She giggled a little, releasing you from her grasp. “Look at my girl encouraging me to be selfish.”

You rolled your eyes. “Why am I even letting you go?” You muttered.

She scoffed playfully, making her way to the boiling kettle to pour herself some tea. The aroma of the imported tea leaves hits your nose, calming your nerves just a little. You see Lilia pause for a moment before reaching for the pen and paper lying on the coffee table. Your gaze never left her, unsure if you made the right decision. She wrote something down on the paper before folding it in half and placing it back down. She gave you a small smile, and you gave her one back too.

“Are you leaving in the afternoon?” You whispered, approaching her.

“It appears so,” came her quiet reply.

You tried to appear unbothered, but you knew she had already noticed your change in demeanor. The Road may have been just an old tale before, but it sure isn’t anymore. Lilia took a sip of her tea as the quiet in the room filled the air.

“We can spend the rest of our time doing whatever you want, baby,” she said in her teacup before taking another sip.

“Just want to spend time with you, Lils,” you hugged her side. She gave a silent reply by putting her arm around your waist.

Even when you held Lilia tighter, time still ended up passing by. It pained you to see her leave as she reached for her shawl. She gave you a kiss on your forehead and reassured you over and over again that it’ll be fine.

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you more.”

And with that, she left. An echo of her presence stayed glued to you, but you tried to shake it off. “She’ll come back,” you thought.

The stars twinkled outside to remind you that the middle of the night had fallen. You dragged your feet on the floor before your eyes caught sight of the cracked vase sitting on the windowsill. You and Lilia had put off replacing it, promising to get it done later. Truthfully, you both never had the plans to—being procrastinators and all. You sighed as you gently picked it up.

You made your way to the living room but stopped when a chill ran down your spine. It shook at your bones, nerves, and everything in between. Then, like it had been practiced before, you felt an intangible tether snap as if it had no choice but to let you go. Something told your soul that your other half departed from the present in that split moment.

An ear-splitting shatter tore through the air, followed by a dull ache in your palm. You cast a fleeting glance on your hand to realize you had dropped the cracked vase—a deep crimson colored your palm, tainting your already wandering thoughts. Your hands started to shake, tears threatened to fall, breathing became harder, and a pit started to form in your stomach. Your eyes darted between your bloodied palm, a golden picture frame, and the cerulean drapes; yellows, reds, and blues meshed into an incomprehensible figure burning itself into your vision.

Lilia.

In that split moment, it felt as if the wind got knocked out of your lungs. Her name barely left the space between your lips. You feared that if you said it any louder, the intimate space of your and Lilia’s shop would give way, crushing you and your soul beneath it. Your vision blurred, and you blinked to let tears escape you. You shifted closer to the coffee table, gripping its edge tightly as if it could ground you as you lowered yourself to sit on the ground. Sobs left your very body while reality settled in.

A piece of paper fell on your side—the same one Lilia left on the table. You sniffed, taking it between your fingers. You remembered the smile she sent your way that morning as her favorite tea traveled through the air. You hadn’t bothered seeing what she wrote, assuming it had been one of her indecipherable writings—the kind she only ever seemed to understand.

Tracing the edge of the folded sheet, you carefully opened it. The way the letters took shape—every bend, every curve—had been so Lilia. You read it. Your heartbeat stuttered, rereading what you had just read: a private letter just for you. But, strangely enough, she seemed to recount events that happened on The Road. Did she experience another gap of time before leaving? And when your eyes reached the last line, the word “goodbye” was the only imprint you could focus on.

“Goodbye for now.”

A cry ripped through your throat, hugging the piece of paper. Denial set in, trying your very best to fight the thought of losing her forever.

Forever?

Lilia could never truly leave you. She seemed to remind you of that fact—the remaining remnants of her tea leaves, the cards stacked on the kitchen counter, and the remaining perfume that lingered in the air. You breathed it in, hoping your shaky breathing could help you. But still, you trusted Lilia. Lilia had a reason to go. You may not fully understand—the words of the letter not fully reaching you just yet—but you knew that she had a reason.

And whatever reason that is, you believed in her.

Your eyes trailed to the sentences just before “goodbye,” and it read:

“We’ll see each other again soon, baby.”

And you felt reminded of something.

Time runs in a circle—a loop. It ends, and it begins. Again. And again. And again. In every breath, every thought, every beat of your heart, you will inevitably fall in love with her, as she does with you. You will inescapably experience grief and pain. Again. And again. And again.

Like a never-ending story.

But oddly, just like what Lilia had written, you felt reminded of something. That the love you both shared and the pain you both feel transcends that of time. That even the present cannot cage the past nor the future. That you, and you alone, are more than enough for her to live through it all. Again. And again. And again

You let out a shaky sigh and looked at the letter again. A strong resolve settled in your heart: if grief was the price you had to pay to love her in every lifetime, then you were more than willing to accept it.

If this was the end, may the beginning come greet you sooner.

Before you knew it, she stood in front of you. The only thing separating the two of you was the counter. As you hesitatingly scanned her features, a part of you felt taken back to good times; she hadn’t changed. Not a sign of time leaving marks on her supple skin—‘cept for a few wrinkles, maybe. But you had thought it to be a sign of her smiling too much—an optimism you reached for, hoping her life was filled with happy days. You knew it to be unlikely, but you had clung to the dream that she was doing well.

She lets out a small smile—one that seemed to say, "I'm glad to see you've been well"—and that’s when you notice. The very same blue eyes that had the look of the lightest feather seemed to be replaced by something far more heavy and dreary. It shouldn't have surprised you, yet it did.

She scanned your face, as if she couldn't believe you were right in front of her. A tinge of regret, sorrow, and sadness washed over her face, hidden behind that faint smile of hers. Maybe she was reminiscing too, just like you. Her eyes formed a myriad of thoughts—the quiet in the room being an illusion. Though words had not yet been said, the weighing emptiness of sound had said more than enough.

She inhaled deeply, as if to signify she was going to say something. You had hoped it would be something short. Something that didn’t have to dig up older wounds. Something that you could lightheartedly joke about. Something that could keep the conversation excruciatingly short. Something. Anything.

Your name left her lips.

Then a pause. 

Her eyebrows wrinkled just a little. Subtle enough to have been missed if you weren't paying attention. Hesitance was clear as day. She reached for words. Yet, she couldn't say anything.

"How are you?"

A pang went through your chest.

How are you?

You let out an incredulous laugh. Unbelievable. All this time, and the first words she says are your name and a check-up greeting.

How are you? Funny. You wish you had an answer. You didn't know whether you were still in the process of healing or your heart had been carved out whole. You didn't know whether you felt everything or nothing. 

Or maybe, just maybe, you were afraid to face it.

To face the emotions you thought you had long forgotten.

To face her.

"How am I? How are you?" Your sharp tone cut through the air. It had taken her aback, her eyes widening just a little. Perhaps your voice was a lot louder than you had intended, but so much was bubbling deep within you. So, so, so, so much.

Carefully choosing her words, she broke eye contact, shifting her focus to the shelf behind you. The shelf you had just finished restocking was lined up with an array of vintage trinkets: jewelry, picture frames, music boxes, and... cameo brooches. As her eyes landed on them, she stroked the one hanging from her neck. The one she wore as a necklace. Your eyes shifted to it too. Memories hit you. You wish it hadn't.

Her eyes shifted back to you. She stopped touching her necklace, placing her hand on the edge of the counter. She inhaled deeply, her blue eyes piercing through your skin. As if she knows your running thoughts. As if she can hear them all and she's trying to find a breakthrough. That split moment felt longer than it should have.

"I'm sorry."

Your eyes widened, your breath shaking. Two words you would have never thought to hear from her. The two words you wish you had heard a long, long, long time ago. The two words you thought could've solved everything.

But could it?

Your heart raced. Your mind reeled. Two words—that was enough to send you spiraling. You thought it would solve everything. That you could smile and say you forgave her. That you could hug her and welcome her back in your life. Those two words you sought for all this time.

You staggered backwards, your eyes meeting hers once more. Her eyes are glossy. Her hand reached out instinctively to provide a sense of comfort but retracted knowing her position.

You had been shifting between ranges of emotions—ones that contradict and support one another. You had been confused about why now she had decided to show up until your eyes landed on her hand that was resting on the edge of the marble counter.

The black that tainted her fingers was gone. The epitome of evil had disappeared from off her hands. That damned book that had been the catalyst of everything awful. The final straw that drove you to walk away—to walk away from her. 

She must have noticed your hardened gaze. One directed at her fingertips. She took her hand off the counter. Her stature shrank just a little—feeling small. You let out a wry chuckle, and she flinched. The oh-so-collected-and-sure-of-herself witch flinched from your laugh alone.

"Oh, Agatha...," you scoffed, "did losing the Darkhold finally knock some sense into you?"

It was her turn to be taken aback. Hurt was evident in her eyes. Her face fell. Only you could possibly twist the deepest emotions in Agatha Harkness. And you reveled in it.

The pit of your stomach twisted, feeling guilty. Deep down you didn't want to hurt her, but you couldn't stop yourself from lashing out. Old emotions bubbled to the surface, showing the ugly you had hidden all this time. 

"Don't look at me like that. This much was to be expected, no?" Your voice quivered, unsure what to feel.

Agatha looked guilty—felt guilty. You bit your lower lip, feeling awful. In truth, you wanted to hug her, comfort her, love her. But this cannot be a repeat of the same story—one that took place centuries ago.

Both of you flinched when the wind chime let out a sound yet again. Both of you shifted your focus to the figure entering the store. Your tense muscles relaxed when you realized who it was—Lilia Calderu.

She was the older lady who occupied the store next door—sweet, kind, and loving. The exact opposite of what Agatha stood for. All the more, Lilia was a fellow witch.

Your apparent relaxedness caught the eye of Agatha, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Dear, it's lunch break. Have you-" Her eyes landed on the woman before you. "Are you still taking care of a customer?" Worry carried through her voice as she walked to your side, knowing you had a habit of overworking.

Your fingers found their way to the hem of your shirt, fidgeting. A telltale to both Agatha and Lilia alike that you were feeling anxious. That you wished to get away from a current situation. Their eyes flickered to your fingers. Then—to add even more tension—they both made eye contact. 

Lilia's arm snakes its way through your waist protectively. You instinctively melted in her touch. Agatha’s gaze hardened for better or for worse. Lilia’s eyes never left the other woman’s. Then—as if the tension hadn’t been there already—the air became heavier, pressing on your very existence. The burning presence of the woman you swore to never see again and the loving presence of the woman you swore to care deeply for clashed against one another. It was tangible.

“Dear, is she a welcome guest?” Lilia’s sharp tone cut through the air, her hand around your waist pulling you closer.

You hesitated, your fingers leaving your shirt. You paused to look at Agatha. Her eyes flickered to meet yours, her gaze softening when it did. Behind those deep-sea eyes, an apology was spoken yet again. Your heart tightened in your chest.

Lilia’s focus shifted to you. You looked at her, and you were met with a kind gaze. Your heart banged against the cage you kept it in. Your emotions came to a boiling point. Unsure whether to tear the cage down or to reinforce it. Let Agatha Harkness in yet again, or choose to shut that door closed. Forever. And, regrettably, you replayed the memories you lived through. All for Agatha Harkness.

Pain and anger rose.

Yet. Again.

Your face was noticeably shrouded with the deepest of anger and hurt. Beneath that, though, was nothing but pure love for Agatha Harkness. One that will be left bottled up for centuries to come. Love that had a place to go, but it was a place to be left abandoned. A place unreachable—not because you couldn’t go in, no, but because you caged yourself in. To some place safe. A place you fled to, blind.

Both Lilia and Agatha silently waited for your answer. 

A bitter taste seeped in through your tongue, unable to stop the words that followed. “She’s an unwelcome one.”

Agatha’s face fell. Lilia’s was more on the worried side. She spared a look at the other woman—a silent request of ‘go.’ Agatha opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself. 

Uncountable years left a space and gap between the two of you—bigger than the both of you could even care to admit. Time slipped. And exactly just like that, Agatha turned to leave. Slipping through the glass doors, leaving you alone for good.

You let go of the breath you didn’t even know you were holding in. Your breathing labored, the air not being better at all even though the woman had left. You were unsure whether a burden was lifted or another one came in. 

Lilia stood by your side, quietly observing you. 

Silence.

“Dear?” She softly spoke.

“Hm?” You looked up at her, quietly wishing she wouldn’t say anything else.

“You okay?” Her hand moved up to your arm, providing a sense of comfort.

You smiled. A smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Are you okay?

You’re not quite sure.

One thing was sure, though: time wasn't and isn't your bestfriend.

Time never heals.