16. James Versus The World
JAMES VERSUS THE WORLD
The mall was louder than I needed it to be.
People everywhere. Music bleeding from one store into another. Sale signs screaming fonts that felt a little too desperate.
It should’ve been distracting enough. But it wasn’t. Because somehow, even in a place this busy, my thoughts kept circling back to one person.
I ran my fingers across a rack of shirts, flipping through fabrics I didn’t really see. Cotton. Linen. Something soft. Something clean. Something that would look good on him.
He always shone in blue, so I paused on a button-down, holding it up slightly, already picturing it on him.
Sleeves rolled. Collar undone. Effortless.
God. I am in love with him.
I shook my head lightly, exhaling through my nose like that would clear him out of my system.
It didn’t.
Focus.
I turned slightly, scanning for something else…
And that’s when I saw them.
Two very familiar silhouettes across the store.
Honey and Andi.
My heart dropped so fast I felt it in my throat.
No, no, no, no.
I immediately turned back to the rack, stepping closer like the shirts could shield me from reality itself. I grabbed one at random and lifted it higher than necessary, pretending to inspect it like my life depended on the stitching.
Maybe if I didn’t move—
“James.”
Shit.
I closed my eyes for half a second, slowly lowered the shirt, and turned.
“Guys!” I said, smiling like I hadn’t attempted a full disappearance act behind discounted clothing.
Honey was already walking toward me like a model, her expression unimpressed in a way only she could perfect. Andi followed beside her, arms crossed, already frowning.
Honey stopped right in front of me, looking me up and down once.
“Did you just try to hide behind a medium-sized button-down?” she asked.
I blinked. “It was large.”
Andi snorted.
“That makes it worse,” Honey said.
I laughed lightly, casual. Easy. Meanwhile, internally? Full collapse.
“What are you guys doing here?” I asked, deflecting.
Honey didn’t answer immediately. She just looked at me. Like, really looked at me.
And suddenly, the mall didn’t feel loud anymore.
“Where have you been?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.
I shrugged, forcing something light into my voice. “Busy.”
“Busy, huh?” Andi repeated.
“With what?” Honey added.
“Life,” I said. “Work. My Aussie client has been assigning me new tasks. So...”
“You don’t work,” Andi said—which was an exaggeration of course. I just wasn’t that busy. But of course, I couldn’t say that right now.
Still, they didn’t look convinced.
Honey tilted her head slightly. “That’s crazy. Because last time I checked, ‘life’ didn’t stop you from answering our messages.”
I let out a nervous laugh. “Okay, that sounds worse than it is.”
“Does it?” Honey asked.
An awkward silence settled between us.
I shifted my weight, glancing at the rack again like it might save me a second time.
“I just needed some time,” I said. “To myself.”
“That’s what you said the last time you disappeared for five months,” Andi pointed out.
“I didn’t disappear,” I said quickly. “I’m literally here now.”
“Oh, we can see that,” Honey said. “In public. Alive. Dressed. Thriving, even.”
“That’s debatable,” Andi added.
I smiled, but it felt thinner now.
Honey’s expression softened—just slightly—but her voice didn’t.
“It’s February, James.”
“You missed January meetups,” Andi added. “No calls. No show-ups. No replies.”
Honey leaned in a little. “We thought you went MIA again.”
Again.
I swallowed.
“I didn’t,” I said, quieter this time. “I just… needed space.”
Honey held my gaze for a second longer than I was comfortable with—like she was deciding to push further.
She didn’t.
Instead, she said, “You’re coming tomorrow.” Not asked but commanded.
I blinked. “To—tomorrow?”
“Our monthly brunch,” Andi added. “You remember those? The one you’ve been ghosting?”
“I didn’t—”
“Non-negotiable,” Honey cut in.
I opened my mouth, already forming an excuse for Saturdays were whole days with Victor now.
“I might have—”
“Don’t,” Honey said simply. Not loud. Not dramatic. But it landed like thunder before the storm.
And something about the way she looked at me—like I had already let her down—shut me up completely.
Andi smiled sweetly to ease the tension. “Because if you don’t show up, we will go to your apartment. Knock. Loudly. Repeatedly.”
Honey nodded. “With snacks.”
“And judgment,” Andi added.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
They weren’t joking. And I knew it.
“Alright,” I said finally. “I’ll go.”
“Good,” Honey smiled.
Andi clapped once. “Love that for you.”
I forced a smile again, but underneath it, something tightened. Because the truth was, I wasn’t ready—for the questions, for the explanations, for the looks on their faces once I told them the truth that Victor and I were back together.
And I already knew they weren’t going to like it.
Dinner at Victor’s place had already become a kind of routine.
Not planned nor discussed. It just happened.
I leaned against the counter while he moved around the kitchen.
There was something about watching him like this—quiet, focused, at ease—that made everything feel settled. Like this was normal. Like this was what we were always meant to be.
“Careful,” he said, not looking at me. “You’re staring. You might fall in love with me over again.”
“I’m observing,” I replied, my cheeks warming.
He let out a small breath through his nose, amused, as he set the plates down. “That sounds worse.”
“Depends on how you take it.”
He glanced at me then—quick, but enough—and there it was again. That look that had undone me more times than I cared to admit.
We sat across from each other.
For a while, we just ate, telling each other small comments and passing remarks. We had the kind of conversation that didn’t need to go anywhere to feel like something.
And I almost didn’t bring it up.
I could’ve waited. Delayed it. Pretended tomorrow didn’t exist yet.
But the thought kept sitting there, pressing just enough.
“So,” I started, setting my fork down.
He looked up briefly. “Hmm?”
“My friends,” I said. “I ran into them earlier.”
“Yeah?”
“Honey and Andi.”
He nodded once, like the names didn’t mean much to him beyond what I’d already told him before. “How are they?”
“Persistent,” I replied, letting out a small breath.
That earned a faint smile. “Sounds about right.”
He never met them in person.
I hesitated for a second, then continued. “They want me to go to our monthly brunch tomorrow.”
He didn’t react right away. Just kept eating, like he was letting the sentence settle before deciding what to do with it.
“And?” he asked.
“And… I said yes.”
A small pause.
“Okay.”
That was it. No hesitation. No question. No shift in tone.
I blinked, almost thrown off by how easy that was.
“Okay?” I repeated.
He glanced at me. “Yeah.”
“But we were supposed to spend the whole day together.”
“We still can,” he said simply. “Just later.”
Something in my chest loosened.
“I’ll come here right after,” I added quickly. “As soon as it’s done.”
He nodded. “Alright.”
I watched him for a second longer than necessary, like I was trying to read something that wasn’t there.
Then—almost absentmindedly, like it wasn’t meant to land somewhere—he said, “You sound like you’re a little burdened by them.”
It was said so casually, it almost slipped past me.
“I’m not,” I said quickly, guilt creeping up on me.
He didn’t argue. Didn’t push. He just nodded once and went back to his food like the thought had already left him.
But it didn’t leave me. It stayed there. Quiet. Uncomfortable. Because for a second, I wondered if he was right. If the weight earlier—the hesitation, the pressure—was because of my friends or because Victor caused it.
Because I didn’t want those two parts of my life to meet.
Because I already knew what would happen when they did.
I didn’t say any of that, of course.
Instead, I picked up my fork again, took another bite, and nodded along to whatever he said next.
And just like that, dinner continued.
Saturday came with too much light.
And somehow, I still showed up.
I paused just outside the display mirror of Punched Coffee, catching my reflection like I needed a second to prepare—to meet my friends as though they were strangers.
I took a quick selfie. Breathed in. Held it. And then let it go.
Then I went in.
Inside, everything opened up. High ceilings stretched upward like the space refused to feel small—exposed pipes and beams painted in deep green, industrial but softened by warm light. An entire wall of glass let the morning pour in without asking permission with trees swaying outside the windows.
And then there were the colors. Yellow, bold and unapologetic, cutting through the space in curved lights and mismatched chairs that shouldn’t have worked, but did. Blue benches lined one side, smooth and clean, like they were made for long conversations you didn’t plan on having.
The low hum of coffee machines, milk steaming, quiet conversations layered over soft music—it all blended into something steady and grounding.
Behind the long counter, baristas moved like they knew exactly what they were doing—precise, practiced. There was something almost hypnotic about it. Even the coffee here had a personality.
I glanced at the menu on the iPad, not really reading it.
Brunch plates. Coffee I didn’t drink. Names that sounded like they belonged in a different city but somehow made sense here.
Everything about this place felt curated. Designed. And I understood why people liked it.
It wasn’t just a brunch spot. It was a moment.
Couples. Friends. People laughing too loud for ten in the morning. Someone typing on a laptop like they had their life together. Someone else taking photos of their food before touching it.
It felt full.
And yet, there it was again. That quiet, familiar tension sitting underneath my skin.
Because no matter how beautiful a place is, it doesn’t soften what you walked in carrying.
I exhaled slowly.
Then my eyes found who they were looking for.