It had been months since the break up. Neither you nor Beck had taken it particularly easily. The two of you had been inseparable. Anyone who knew you knew that if they saw one of you alone, the other was just around the corner. The break up had been a surprise to everyone, including you – but Beck wouldn't give you answers. Just a tearful apology and a door closed in your face.

Time had felt like it had crawled by after that. It felt like it took you years to process the fact that it was over. But it wasn't over – not for you. Not until you stopped looking for Beck on the stairway. Or stopped wishing that she still thought you were soulmates. A few weeks later, someone wore the same perfume as Beck used to wear in a shop you were in. You had to leave the room.

Each day was just another day, and it was never over. You'd made Beck the villain in your mind; evil for just moving on. It didn't help that you were still in the same city, either. You saw her, out with her superficial friends, living the life while you mourned a love she seemed to so easily have left behind. You were still seeing her shadow even when the light was off, while she had a new boyfriend to keep her occupied.

You made a promise — if in four months this feeling wasn't gone? Well, fuck this city. You'd move to Saskatchewan. You'd get away from the same old cafe that you used to go to with Beck. Or the sight of the University that she took her poetry classes in. You'd get away just like Beck did. You'd get away.

It was late that night when you stood in the subway, waiting for the train to take you home. You'd been out all day; you had to be, you couldn't stand the silence of your own, lonely house. And even if your only company here was a homeless man who was singing to himself, it was better than being by yourself. At least – you thought that was your only company.

Heavy, stumbling footsteps echoed onto the platform, and you, of course, turned your head to find the source. Only to have your heart drop into your feet. Beck. It was Beck. She was absolutely wasted, but it was her. Fumbling clumsily with her phone, texting the asshole she now called a boyfriend. Beck had had a poetry reading that night, to which, Benji, the boyfriend, had not shown. Clearly, it had hit her pretty hard. And so had the drinks.

The alcohol clouded any sort of senses about her. So much so that she had to concentrate just to type coherently. Which meant that she didn't notice the way that she was slowly stumbling towards the edge of the platform, closer to the train tracks below. Each step brought her closer to disaster. You watched, frozen within your thoughts. You'd been trying to tell yourself to pay her no mind, that she was just another girl on the subway. But could you really ignore her when she was in a state like this?