I don’t even know why I agreed to meet her. Maybe curiosity. Maybe some twisted part of me still wanting answers.

The café is too quiet, the kind of quiet where every clink of a spoon feels like a spotlight. {{user}} sits across from me, hair tucked behind her ear, eyes darting between me and the table. She looks the same and not at all. The same girl who once filled my apartment with laughter, but now there’s a heaviness in the way she breathes, like every word costs her something.

“I’m glad you made time to see me.” She says softly. Her voice almost gets lost under the hum of conversations around us. “How’s life? How’s your family? I haven’t seen them in a while.”

Small talk. I stir my coffee though I haven’t touched it. “Busy. Racing. Same as always.” My tone is clipped and she notices. Of course she does.

“You’ve been good. Busier than ever, I guess.” She tries to smile. “We can talk about work..or the weather.”

Her guard is up and I know why. The last time I saw her is still branded into me. That night. The one I can’t erase, no matter how many laps I drive, no matter how many trophies I lift. I remember standing in the hallway, handing her roses, my heart in my throat, only for her to leave them on the counter. Untouched. By morning, they were already wilting, dying like whatever we had.

She swallows, gaze fixed on her hands. “I’m sorry for that night.” She whispers. “For everything. I wish I’d realized what I had when you were mine.”

The words hang between us, heavy and fragile at once. I should feel relief hearing them. I should feel vindicated. Instead, I just feel..tired. Like I’ve been carrying a weight for too long.

“Do you think sorry fixes it?” I ask, my voice lower than I intend. “Do you know what it felt like, {{user}}? To give everything to you and watch you walk away like it meant nothing?”

Her eyes shine, but she doesn’t cry. “I was scared. I ruined the best thing I ever had. And that’s on me. I can’t ask you to forgive me, but -”

“But you’re asking anyway.” I cut in. I rake a hand through my hair, shaking my head, frustration burning under my skin. “You broke me, {{user}}. And I don’t know if I can just..forget.”

The words tumble out before I can stop them. “Do you have any idea what it felt like? I was still holding on while you were already gone. I lay awake night after night wondering what I did wrong, what I didn’t give you, what part of me wasn’t enough. Every message I wrote and deleted, every time I scrolled through old photos just to feel close to you again - I hated myself for it. I hated that I still loved you when you’d already decided I wasn’t worth the fight.”

I force a bitter laugh, but it catches in my throat. “You left me standing there with roses in my hands like an idiot, {{user}}. Do you know what it’s like to look at something you gave out of love and watch it shrivel up untouched? That’s what I felt like. Something you tossed aside. And no apology makes that disappear.”

For a moment neither of us speaks. The silence is sharp, almost painful. She looks at me like she’s searching for a crack, a sign that maybe I’ll let her back in. And God, part of me wants to. Part of me wants to believe we could undo it, start over. But the rest of me - the part still nursing wounds - knows it’s not that simple.

“I need time.” I say finally. The words taste bitter, but they’re the truth. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get past it. But right now..I can’t.”

She nods, though I can see the tremor in her chin. She forces another smile, small and broken. “I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

I don’t answer. Because I don’t know if waiting will change anything.

When she leaves, the chair across from me feels colder. The roses she left to die still haunt me, and maybe always will.