Twenty Seven #2
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling, my heart still a mess of splintered glass. “It doesn’t matter, does it? He’s there. I’m here. And I ruined everything.”
Charlotte is quiet again, and when she speaks, her voice is softer. “You didn’t ruin everything, Mia. You made a mistake. A big one, sure, but you’re here now, aren’t you?”
I sniff. “Yeah. For all the good it did.”
“It’s not over unless you both decide it is.”
I shake my head, hot tears slipping into my hair. “I can’t chase someone who doesn’t want me anymore.”
Charlotte sighs. “And you can’t decide what he wants based on one moment you saw from a distance.”
I want to argue, to tell her she’s wrong. I want to tell her that I felt it, that deep, crushing certainty in my gut when I saw him with her. But I’m too exhausted to fight, and part of me—some small, desperate part—wants to believe she’s right.
So instead, I whisper, “I don’t know what to do.”
Charlotte’s voice softens. “Get some sleep, love. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”
I nod again, even though she can’t see me. “Ok.”
“Promise me?”
“Promise.”
We hang up, and I clutch the phone to my chest, staring up at the ceiling through blurry eyes. The room feels too big, too empty, too cold.
And despite Charlotte’s words, despite the tiny flicker of hope she’s trying to keep alive, all I feel is the aching, brutal certainty that I’ve already lost him. Again.
THE COFFEE SHOP IS quiet for a Friday morning.
Just the low hum of conversation, the hiss of the espresso machine, and the soft clink of ceramic cups.
I should have gone straight to the station, but after last night, I needed something—caffeine, sugar, divine intervention—anything to make me feel remotely human again.
I rub at my puffy eyes as I step up to the counter, forcing my voice into something resembling normal when I order a cappuccino. The barista nods and just as I’m reaching for my card I hear his voice.
Deep, familiar, and right behind me.
“You’ve got to be joking.”
My body locks up. Every nerve ending goes on high alert. I turn slowly, heart hammering, and there he is.
Austin.
He is standing a few feet away, his grey wool coat unbuttoned, hair slightly tousled, like he’s just run a hand through it in frustration. His sharp blue eyes land on me, widening slightly in something that might be shock? Maybe disbelief? Anger?
For a second, neither of us says anything. The whole world just . . . tilts.
And then, she shifts beside him.
Blonde. Beautiful. Smiling.
Something sharp twists inside my chest, but I shove it down, plastering on the most neutral expression I can manage.
Do not crumble. Do not crumble, Mia.
“Hi, Austin.” My voice is smooth. Unbothered. The complete opposite of the chaos inside me. I keep my expression neutral, because I have to. I will not let him see how much this guts me.
“Mia.” His brows furrow slightly, like he’s trying to make sense of me standing here. His gaze drags over my face, searching for something I don’t want him to find. “Wh—what are you doing here?”
“Oh, you know,” I say breezily, lifting my coffee cup. “Getting a drink. Revolutionary concept, I know.” I say, doing the most pathetic laugh known to man.
His lips press into a thin line. That was probably too much. Too sharp. But I don’t trust myself to be soft around him. His companion clears her throat lightly, and Austin straightens. “Uh, this is April,” he says, motioning to her. “My colleague.”
Colleague.
Not girlfriend.
It shouldn’t mean anything, but the relief that rushes through me is humiliating. I keep my smile in place, ignoring the way my stomach is tying itself in knots.
“Nice to meet you, April,” I say politely, extending a hand.
She takes it, smiling. “You too.” She gives me an expression I can’t quite name. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Something flickers across Austin’s face. I don’t dare look at him.
I nod, sipping my coffee, as if this is just any other conversation and not a slow-motion car crash of emotions. “Ha, all good things, I hope.”
April chuckles. “Mostly.”
Austin exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck, and for a split second, I see it. The crack in his composure. I almost let myself believe that maybe—maybe—this is as weird for him as it is for me.
It’s small—barely there—but it’s enough to make my heart stutter.
I should leave. I should walk out of here with my dignity intact, but my feet stay rooted to the spot, and suddenly, the silence between us is stretching too long.
April’s phone buzzes in her hand, and she glances down. “I should take this.” She gives Austin a small smile before stepping away, leaving us alone.
And suddenly, it’s just us.
Like it always was.
Like it never should have stopped being.
Austin doesn’t move at first. He just looks at me, eyes flicking over my face like he’s memorising it.
“Want to sit down?” He asks, as he motions to a nearby table. I nod and we make our way over to it. Then, slowly, he sits. Right across from me.
I clutch my coffee like a lifeline, fingers tightening around the cup as he leans forward, elbows resting on the table.
“How long are you here for?” His voice is quieter now, measured.
I swallow against the lump in my throat. “Oh, not long. My train leaves in two hours.”
Austin stills. It’s just a second, just the briefest flicker of something across his face, but I see it.
He nods, looking away for a moment before meeting my gaze again. “Right.”
And it’s there—the weight of everything unsaid. The things we should have said months ago.
I should tell him.
I should tell him that I was miserable without him. That I tried to move on but no one else felt right. That I made the biggest mistake of my life letting him go.
That I love him.
That I never stopped.
But I don’t.
Because what if it doesn’t change anything?
What if he looks me in the eye and tells me he doesn’t love me anymore?
What if he already has someone else to love?
Austin exhales, running a hand through his hair, before looking at me again. “Why did you come here?”
His voice is different now. Low. Almost raw.
My throat burns. “I don’t know.”
He stares at me, unblinking. “Yeah, you do.”
The air between us is too thick, too heavy. And I feel like I’m suffocating.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, snapping me back into reality. I clear my throat, standing too quickly, and my chair scrapes against the floor.
“I should go,” I say, my voice a little unsteady.
Austin watches me, his expression unreadable. “Right.”
I hesitate, hoping—praying—for him to say something. To ask me to stay.
But he doesn’t.
So I force a smile, a pathetic, trembling thing, and nod. “Goodbye, Austin.”
And then I walk out of the coffee shop. By the time I reach the street, the tears are falling freely.
Because I knew this would hurt.
I just didn’t know it would feel like losing him all over again.