Chapter 5 Ava
Chapter five
Ava
I shut the door behind me too quickly, like if I move fast enough, I can outrun the way he looked at me.
Like I was beautiful.
Like I mattered.
Like I was wanted.
But I’m not. That’s the lie I tell myself because it feels safer than believing anything else.
I lean against the wall and close my eyes, breathing hard like I just escaped something dangerous.
Except the danger wasn’t him.
It was the way I felt with him. The way my heart opened without permission.
The way he kissed me like I was precious, like I wasn’t too much or not enough. Like I was just… right. But I’m not. I’m not right. I never have been.
I’m the girl who was told by her own mother to eat less, talk less, be less.
I’m the girl who got married thinking she’d finally made it, finally been chosen, only to spend three years slowly becoming invisible.
Two of those years without being touched. Two years of sleeping side by side like strangers, of wondering if it was my body that made him lose interest, or if it was just me. Maybe both. He never said it out loud. He didn’t have to.
His silence screamed what my mother always had:
You’re not enough. You’re too big. Too loud. Too needy. Too much.
No one wants a woman like you.
So I built walls. Armor. A life that doesn’t ask for too much.
And then Elijah came along, all fire and softness, and I let myself pretend, for one second, that maybe he saw something else.
That maybe, to him, I could be beautiful. But he’s just being kind. He’s kind to everyone. That’s what he does. That's how he is.
And when he sees what I really am, under the carefully layered smiles and deflections, he’ll leave too.
Maybe not in words.
But in the distance. In silence.
In the slow withdrawal that kills you one forgotten touch at a time.
So I do what I always do. I walk away first. I leave before he can change his mind. Before he sees the soft belly, the stretch marks, the mess of who I really am. Before he realizes he could do so much better. Because people like me?
We don’t get love stories. Things like that only happen in the pages of my favorite authors, never in real life.
***
This past week has felt both endless and gone in a blink.
Elijah’s barely been around, and while part of me is grateful for the space, I can’t deny how much I miss him.
Tomorrow is Friday, our night. For nearly four years, it’s been our routine: superhero movies, junk food, and him on my couch like he belongs there.
Like he always has. It’s our thing. He’s been my constant.
But lately, it feels different. Every time we’re together, there’s this pull, like gravity, impossible to resist, and yet somehow, I feel like I’m losing him. Losing my friend. And no matter how much I pretend that’s all he is… I don’t want to.
Elijah is the reason I can breathe through the hard days. The reason I smile, keep dreaming, and keep going.
When the only thing holding me together was the idea of this store, he showed up like the universe sent him just for me. I would’ve quit a thousand times if it were just me. But Eli didn’t let me. He gave me the strength to keep pushing.
Imposter syndrome is cruel, especially when people around you make you feel like you're never enough. Elijah, Laura, and later Mia, they believed in me even when I struggled to believe in myself.
But now, one of those people, maybe the most important one, is pulling away. Well, that's not true, I'm pushing him away.
But after that kiss the other night, I’m a mess of emotions.
He’s giving me space, and I’m grateful. I really am.
But… I can’t shake the feeling that if I say no, if I tell him I’m not ready, he’ll walk away.
Not just from more, but from us. From the friendship that’s been my safe place for so long.
And I don’t know if I’m strong enough to lose that.
And what do I do when my emotions get the best of me? I make reckless, irrational choices. I know this is beyond stupid, but still, some part of me believes I have to do it. Like there’s no other way.
I stare at my phone, screen dark, fingers clenched around it like it's holding answers it refuses to give.
The silence in the store stretches long and heavy, wrapping around me like a weighted blanket. I can’t sit in this anymore.
I head to where Mia’s rearranging the little reading nook shelf with staff picks. She hums softly to herself, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing behind my ribs.
“Mia?” I say, voice a little too tight.
Mia doesn’t look up right away when I walk into the reading nook, but the moment I sit beside her on the oversized circular armchair, she glances over.
“You’ve got that look,” she says.
“What look?”
“The one that says you’re about to do something either stupid or emotionally reckless. So, which is it?”
I huff a laugh and pull my knees up onto the fluffy chair. “Bit of both, maybe.”
She sets the books down, fully focused now. “Okay. Talk to me.”
“I want to make a dating profile,” I blurt out.
Mia blinks. “Wait—you want to go on dating apps? You’ve always said they were a dumpster fire.”
“They are,” I say quickly. “But I think I need to try.”
She studies me carefully. “Because of Elijah.”
I nod once. “He kissed me, and now he’s avoiding me. Or giving me space. I don't know. I just know that when I’m around him, it feels like gravity bends. And when I’m not… it still feels like he’s in the room.”
Mia is quiet, letting the words hang.
“And I know it’s stupid to think I’ll find anything real on an app,” I continue, voice softer now. “But maybe if I put myself out there—just a little—it’ll remind me that I’m capable of… moving on. Of feeling something else. Or at least, pretending to.”
She frowns. “You don’t have to pretend, Ava. Not with me. And definitely not with some stranger in your DMs.”
“I know... but I can’t take that step with him. Maybe with someone else—but not with him, Mia. Because if he leaves me, if we don’t work out, and I lose his friendship too... I know I won’t survive it this time.”
Mia reaches over and takes my hand, squeezing it gently. “Okay. We’ll make a profile. But I’m not letting you lie about your favorite movie or pretend you love hiking.”
I laugh through the ache in my chest. “Deal.”
“And if some hot guy sends you a good opening line, you’re going to give him a real chance.”
“Even if he can’t make a proper latte order?” I tease.
“Especially then,” she grins.
And just like that, we start swiping through pictures and filling in prompts, curating a version of me that feels just real enough to be safe.
But deep down, I know the truth: No one on this app is going to compare to the man who made me believe in myself again.
The man who kissed me like I was everything.
But sometimes, even believing in a lie for a while is better than drowning in a truth that hurts too much to hold.
We scroll through profiles together, Mia’s fingers quick and decisive as she guides me through the setup. Name, age, a few carefully selected photos. A line about my love for coffee and bookstores. A joke about preferring fictional men with brooding pasts and great jawlines.
It’s oddly comforting—this silly little ritual of putting yourself out there into the void, even when your heart’s not in it.
“Okay,” Mia says, leaning back, satisfaction written all over her face. “You are officially datable.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Gee, thanks.”
She laughs. “I mean it. Someone’s going to look at this and think, ‘Damn, I want to get to know this woman.’”
“I just hope it’s not Elijah,” I mutter under my breath.
But Mia hears me. “He’s not going to see it. Unless he’s on here too.”
My stomach flips. The thought of Elijah swiping through photos and coming across mine feels like a dagger and a lifeline all at once.
“Would he be?” I ask quietly.
Mia nudges me with her shoulder.
“You know... I’ve never seen Elijah on these apps.”
I glance at her. “Seriously?”
She nods. “Trust me. I’ve been on and off them for years. If that man were out there trying to find love with a bad pickup line and a flexed mirror selfie, I’d know. And definitely he is not going anywhere.”
I blink. “How can you be so sure?”
Mia tilts her head, her expression soft. “Because I see the way he looks at you, Ava. I’ve seen it for years. That man would move the earth for you, and you know it. He’s not going to disappear because things are complicated. He’s just giving you the time to figure out what you want.”
My throat tightens. “What if I don’t know?”
“You do,” she says gently. “You’re just scared.”
I nod slowly, eyes stinging. “What if I break us?”
“You won’t,” she promises. “And even if you stumble, Elijah won’t let that be the end. That man is already yours in every way that matters. Even if he never says it, even if you never kiss again—he’s yours. And he’s not going anywhere.”
I close my eyes and let those words settle into the cracks.
Maybe Mia’s right. Maybe I don’t need a dating app to remind me I’m still lovable. Part of me wants to believe it, but fear is stronger.
I don’t know how long we sit there—Mia beside me, warm and solid—but I eventually lean into her, just enough to let my head rest on her shoulder.
“I wish I could believe it was that simple,” I whisper.
She sighs. “I know. But love isn’t supposed to be simple, Ava. It’s supposed to be real.”
We don’t say anything else for a while. Mia doesn’t push. She never does, and maybe that’s why I trust her with the mess I can’t even sort out in my own head.
Eventually, she goes back to shelving, and I stay seated, thumb brushing against the edge of my phone screen like it might reveal the future if I touch it just right.
Elijah isn’t on these apps. He’s not out there looking for someone else.
And he’s not walking away. At least… not yet.
But I know myself. I know I’m at a crossroads. I can either keep dancing around this ache in my chest, pretending it’ll go away, or I can face it.
It’s terrifying. Because loving Elijah is easy. But accepting that he might love me back, that I might be worthy of it, is the hard part.
I bite my lip, then open the dating app again. A message notification pops up already from someone named Jake. It’s probably just a hey or a bad pun. I don’t even open it. Instead, I go straight to the profile settings and… hit pause.
Not delete. Not yet. Just pause.
Because maybe I need space but not from him, but from the noise in my own head.
And maybe, just maybe, if tomorrow is Friday… and he shows up with takeout and that stubborn glint in his eye like he always does… maybe I’ll find the courage to tell him that I don’t need anyone else.
Just him. Even if it terrifies me.