28
Hazel
I walked into the quiet cafe, the familiar smell of brewed coffee and the soft hum of conversation filling the air, but none of it seemed to reach me. The sunlight filtered through the windows, bathing the room in a warm, golden hue, but it didn’t touch me. Not today. Not with the weight I was carrying, the heaviness in my chest that wouldn’t go away.
I hadn’t expected to see Campbell here. Honestly, I hadn’t expected to see him at all today—or any day after the way we left things. But there he was, sitting alone at a table in the corner, looking so... small. Not physically, but emotionally. He stared down at the cup in front of him, his fingers tapping on the table. His shoulders were rigid, burdened by an immense, unseen pressure. It made my chest tighten, a cold, familiar ache creeping up from my stomach to my throat.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him again. I wasn’t sure I could handle the things left unsaid between us, the things hanging in the air since everything. But there he was. And here I was, standing at the door, staring at him like I’d never seen him before, but somehow, I felt like I knew everything about him in that moment. And it was too much.
Our eyes met the moment I stepped inside, and that pull between us, the one that never went away, was as strong as ever. But it was different now. It was colder, more distant.
“Hey,” I said, unsure of how to bridge the gap that had grown between us.
“Hey.” His voice was quieter than I remembered, and he seemed lost in thought.
His gaze flickered to the empty chair across from him—a silent invitation. It was so subtle, but it was there. I hesitated, standing there for a second longer than I should have.
I walked over and sat down, the chair scraping against the floor, the sound jarring in the silence. And then, it hit me—this was all wrong. Usually, we’d be bantering, laughing, easy with each other. But there was nothing. Just this silence. And it felt suffocating.
“You okay?” I asked, forcing the words out, my voice sounding small in the space between us.
His gaze flickered to me before he looked away again, his walls back up. I could feel the distance radiating off him, like there was something behind those walls, something he wasn’t letting me see.
“I’m fine.” he said, but there was a sharp edge to his voice, an undercurrent of something that wasn’t quite right.
His words didn’t match the way he was sitting, the way he had withdrawn into himself. There was an emptiness there. And it made my heart thud harder, the worry gnawing at my insides.
The silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable, like we were both waiting for the other to break it. But I didn’t know what to say anymore. A wave of apprehension washed over me, silencing my desire to reach out to him. I feared the answers.
After what felt like an eternity, Campbell sighed. He lifted his gaze to mine, his eyes haunted, and I knew that something was about to change. Something I wasn’t ready for.
His eyes searched mine, raw and vulnerable, like he was looking for something—maybe forgiveness, maybe understanding, maybe the courage to say what he felt. My stomach tightened, a strange mix of hope and dread twisting in my chest. Was this it? Was he going to tell me what had been clear between us, what I had wanted to hear for so long? My heart picked up speed, bracing for whatever came next. But then his voice faltered, and the words were distant, like they had been building up for too long to ignore.
“I don’t know what’s going on between us,” he said, the words slicing through the space between us. “I don’t know how to do this. I’m not good at being something more than what I am.”
He looked away, his eyes shifting to the window, like he couldn’t bear to meet my gaze anymore. The words settled in my chest, and I forgot how to breathe.
His voice was so quiet, so fragile, like he was breaking apart. And I didn’t know what to say. His words made little sense, and yet they did. The disappointment washed over me in waves, crashing against my ribs. He didn’t know what was going on between us. And maybe that was my fault. Maybe I had been reading too much into everything—his touches, the way his eyes softened when he looked at me, the way he got close when he was frustrated. Maybe it meant nothing at all.
“So, what does that mean?” I forced the words out, my throat tight, like no air was left in the room. “You don’t want more?”
The fear in my chest gripped me, squeezed my lungs tight. My hands were shaking so violently that I could barely hold the question.
He looked at me then, his eyes meeting mine, and for a moment, I thought he was going to say something, something to fix this, to fix us. But his words were flat, distant, and it hit me harder than anything else.
“I didn’t say that,” he said, but it didn’t feel like the truth. “I just—don’t know how to give you what you need, Hazel.”
And that was it. He didn’t know how to give me what I needed.
The world felt like it was closing in on me, the air growing thin. It wasn’t that he didn’t want me. It was that he didn’t think he was good enough. And somehow, that felt worse. I tried to smile, but it was like my heart was shattering into a million pieces. It was hollow, and it hurt more than anything I had ever felt.
“Well, I guess I’ll figure it out.” I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady. The words came out like sandpaper scraping against my insides. I wanted to leave, to run away before I fell apart in front of him, but I stayed. I didn’t know why. But I felt like he wasn’t buying it.
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something—something to make this better, but the words never came. He just sat there, so quiet, so unsure, and I realized then that I had been reading into this all wrong. I had been holding onto those brief moments, those glances, those touches, and I convinced myself they meant something more than they ever did. The chair scraped against the floor as I stood up, my hands trembling as I pushed it back. The noise felt too loud in the silence.
“Hazel.” he called after me, his voice soft, but I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t.
“I need to go.” I said, my voice tight with something I couldn’t name.
I didn’t know what it was, but it was too much to bear. I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t do this.
I walked out of the cafe, each step heavy, as if I had lead weights on my feet. I didn’t stop, even though I felt his gaze on me the whole time, burning into my back. And then, as I pushed the door open to the outside world, I heard his voice behind me, strained.
“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”
I considered turning around. That maybe, just maybe, I might stay. But then I exhaled, shaking my head.
“It doesn’t matter, Campbell.” My voice cracked, but I didn’t stop. “I never should’ve let myself believe you could be more than just a guy who doesn’t know how to stay.”
And then I walked away. And this time? I didn’t look back. I couldn’t hold on to hope for the Campbell in my story anymore.
**