She sat at one of the small tables, pulling her stuff out of her bag. Just the sight of her hit me in the chest. Sunlight caught her hair, turning it gold. My throat tightened.
I imagined sitting across from her. We’d probably fall into the same rhythm, like nothing had changed.
Instead, I sat on the opposite side of the room, as far away as I could.
It didn’t help.
From here, I had the perfect view - her hair falling over her shoulders, the way she chewed her pen, the slight frown as she wrote. I knew her so well, it hurt.
Part of me kept saying, remember why you broke up. The other part kept replaying how her skin felt, how her breath sounded on my neck.
I tried to focus on anything else. A couple whispered in the corner. A man read on the couch. My coffee sat half-finished.
But my eyes kept returning to Lizzie.
Her expression was trance-like - the same focused look I’d seen a hundred times. I missed that. I missed her.
Memories hit me — her biting her lip, the way she looked at me, the way she’d sigh when I kissed her…
Jesus. Stop.
I shifted, trying to shake off the flood of feelings. I knew the texture of her hair, the sound of her breathing, too well.
Then, some girl sat down at my table, blocking my view.
Seriously?
I had to fight the urge to shout at the girl. Can't you see I'm busy pining over my ex here.?
“Can I help you?” I asked, curt.
“Yeah,” she said. Pretty, dark-haired, and clearly oblivious to the storm in my head.
“You looked lonely,” she added. “A guy like you shouldn’t be by himself.”
I scoffed. She was flirting — blatantly.
“Not interested.”
She blinked. Not used to rejection, clearly. “You don’t even know me.”
“I don’t need to.”
She kept going, brushing my hand, batting her lashes. I pulled away.
“I said no.”
Her tone shifted. “What, waiting for someone?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“You’re acting like you’re taken or something.”
“I’m not interested. That’s the point.”
“You don’t have to be such an ass.”
“And you don’t have to keep pestering me.”
She crossed her arms, clearly annoyed. “God, what is your problem?”
“My problem is you.”
She leaned in, indignant. “You’re not the only good-looking guy here, you know.”
“Then go find someone else. Please.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re actually turning me down?”
“Yup.”
She stared at me like I’d insulted gravity. “But I’m pretty.“
"Congratulations, you're attractive," I said sarcastically. "Want a cookie.“
“You’re really picking some random girl over me?”
“She’s not random. She’s everything.”
She scoffed, disbelieving. “You prefer her to this?” She gestured to herself.
“Ten times over. Every single time.”
Her mouth opened. “But… why?”
I sighed. “Because she’s better than you. In every way. She’s smart, funny, kind… and real.”
“But I’m beautiful.”
“So is she. And that’s the least important thing about her.”
“I’m popular!”
“With shallow guys who want a quick thrill. I want something real.”
She fumed. “I’m not fake!”
I raised an eyebrow. “You live for the attention. You need it. She doesn’t. She just is.”
“You actually prefer a girl who doesn’t care about her looks?”
“She’s more than looks. She’s everything.”
She mocked, “Oh sure, perfect little angel…”
“She’s not a saint. She’s a badass. And stronger than you’ll ever be.”
“She probably has flaws too,” she muttered.
I looked towards Lizzie — expecting her to still be writing. She wasn’t.
She was watching me. Annoyed. Maybe… jealous?
Come here I pleaded silently.
The girl rambled on, her voice high and irritated. “You’re blinded by a crush, thinking she’s some unicorn…”
I ignored her.
Come on, Liz.
Lizzie stood, notebook in hand. She started walking toward us.
The girl was still ranting. “You’re delusional. Some ordinary girl? You must love torturing yourself—”
Lizzie stopped at the table.
The girl didn’t notice.
“You’d really throw away your chance with me for some average girl?”
I didn’t answer. Just patted my lap.
Lizzie, please.
The girl kept going. “You’re crazy. I’m gorgeous, I’m fun, I’m smart—what more could you want?”