41. Don’t Block Me
Samantha
I haven’t heard from Alexander in two weeks, since the day I appeared before the academic review committee. That night, I texted him to tell him my midyear evaluation had been approved. He replied that he’d never doubted it. Since then, nothing.
I should feel relieved, right? Nothing worse than an ex who clings on, refuses to let go, and turns a clean breakup into a long, drawn-out agony. His silence should feel like a relief.
And yet, part of me wishes he’d fought for me.
That he’d insisted.
That he’d proven I mattered—even briefly.
Instead, there’s nothing.
And that nothing hurts.
“Come on, Sam. Get dressed, we’re going out tonight,” Mara declares, bursting into my bedroom.
“We’re taking you to Sunset Sunside,” Emelyne adds. “There’s a live jazz show. You’ll love it.”
I’m sprawled across my bed, my sketchbook open on unfinished drawings. Hesitant lines. Aborted colors.
“I’m really not in the mood, guys.”
“That’s exactly the point,” Emelyne says, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. “You haven’t been in the mood for two weeks. Forget that guy. He doesn’t deserve you.”
I know she’s right.
If only I could switch my feelings off with a button…
“Okay,” I finally give in.
Sunset Sunside is packed. Soft lighting bathes the room.
The tables are close together. Onstage, five musicians: a young singer who also plays piano, an exceptional saxophonist, a harmonica player, a drummer, and a bassist. Between them, magic happens.
The songs are about love. I adore it, but it’s also exactly the kind of atmosphere that brings memories rushing back without warning.
Alexander.
His smiles. Our comfortable silences. The moments when everything felt effortless.
I swallow the tears rising in my eyes, praying the darkness will hide them.
No luck.
Emelyne places her hand over mine. A light squeeze. Silent.
We leave the bar after the concert.
Mara is the one who spots the restaurant: a discreet facade, red lanterns, black ideograms. The moment I step inside, I’m struck.
It’s tiny. Intimate. Dark wood, white lanterns with Japanese calligraphy. A Japanese waitress welcomes us and shows us to our table.
I love this feeling of being somewhere else.
That’s Paris. Crossing the world in just a few subway stops.
For a moment, I imagine bringing Alexander here. Then I remember.
We broke up. I can’t share moments like this with him anymore.
It hurts, but I don’t regret my choice.
I refuse a relationship where I have to walk on eggshells. Where every male friend is a threat. Where I constantly have to prove my love.
I deserve better.
We order several small dishes to share.
“So… your inspector?” I ask Mara, biting into a burning-hot gyoza.
Her smile appears instantly, intimate, almost secret. The smile of a woman in love.
“He… he asked me to move in with him,” Mara says, her cheeks flushing.
“What?!” I blurt out.
“That’s huge!” Emelyne exclaims.
Mara studies her tempura without looking at us.
“I don’t know… maybe it’s a bit soon.”
Despite her casual tone, we can sense her hesitation. Emelyne and I exchange a look.
“Is it because of us?” Emelyne asks.
“What? No!” Mara protests too quickly.
Emelyne places her hand over hers.
“Mara, you’ve spent years taking care of us. It’s time you thought about yourself.”
She pauses, then adds teasingly, “And besides, at thirty, you’re not exactly young anymore. Your ovaries are going to shrivel up if you’re not careful.”
I burst out laughing.
“Bitch!” Mara exclaims. “Keep it up and I’ll show Sam that picture of you drinking from a baby bottle at seven.”
“Hey, it was great. You should try it.”
I love these girls.
“Don’t put your life on hold for us,” I add gently. “You deserve to be happy.”
We can feel her wavering.
“I know. But I love the life we have together,” she says.
“So do we,” I say softly. “But we’ll always be here.”
“You’ll come visit us, or invite us over,” Emelyne adds. “And we’re counting on you to introduce us to lots of hot guys. I need something to dream about. My love life is a desert right now.”
Mara bursts out laughing.
“I’ll think about it.”
The rest of the meal unfolds in a lighter mood. We laugh, already planning future Sundays.
On the subway ride home, my phone vibrates.
Alexander.
I freeze for a second before opening the message.
Please, Sam, don’t block me.
I know I have no right to ask this. You don’t owe me your attention or a reply—just keep this channel open. Every time you see a notification from me, you’ll know I’m still thinking about you. I’m fighting for us.
I’m sorry.
For dragging you into my story with Kristel.
For not making you my priority.
For hurting you.
I’m doing real work on myself to change.
I want to become someone present.
Someone who expresses doubt instead of accusing.
Someone who might one day be worthy of you.
The words blur in front of my eyes. I read them again. Once. Twice.
“Well,” Emelyne murmurs, leaning toward me, “your guy knows how to talk.”
I shrug, trying to keep my face neutral despite the emotion tightening my chest.
“Yeah. But will he keep his promise?”
Mara looks at me with gentle warmth.
“Only time will tell. But for now, live your life. Don’t wait for him.”
I nod.
She’s right. This year is too important. I can’t put my life on pause for a man and his promises.