I will always love you

Chapter 3: The Weight of Yesterday

The rain followed me home, its steady patter against my window a constant reminder that Seattle never really stopped. As I entered my apartment, the familiar scent of old wood and freshly brewed coffee welcomed me, but it didn’t offer the comfort it once had. No matter how many cups of coffee I drank or how many nights I spent wrapped in blankets, there was no escaping the hollow feeling inside me.

I tossed my bag onto the kitchen counter and moved toward the window, watching the raindrops race each other down the glass. I should’ve been grateful for the solitude. After all, it was what I’d chosen. A fresh start. A place where no one knew me, no one knew my history. But the truth was, I wasn’t running toward something—I was running away. From everything. From the life I had once built, from the man I had once loved, from the person I thought I could be.

I leaned my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes. Every day felt like the same, an endless cycle of repetition. Wake up, go to work, drink coffee, come home, and try to forget. It was easier to shut down, to put on a mask and pretend that the pieces of my broken life were whole.

But today... today felt different. The man in the café haunted me in ways I couldn’t explain. There was something about the way he looked at me—so direct, so unflinching. Most people saw the version of me I allowed them to see, a woman who had it all together, who didn’t need anyone. But he saw through it. I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a dangerous thing.

I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts away. I didn’t need this. I didn’t need him. I wasn’t ready for complications, especially not from a stranger who had somehow found his way into my carefully constructed world.

The phone in my pocket buzzed again, pulling me from my thoughts. It was Maya, again. I glanced at the screen, hesitated, and then put the phone down without responding. She had been my best friend since college, the one person who had stuck by me when everything fell apart. But lately, I couldn’t bring myself to talk to her. Not about this. Not about what had happened.

I dropped onto the couch, pulling a throw blanket over my legs, but the sense of unease wouldn’t leave me. It gnawed at the edges of my thoughts, the way the man’s eyes had fixed on mine. The way he seemed to see something I wasn’t ready to face.

My mind drifted back to the events of the past year, to the reason I’d left New York in the first place. The reason I couldn’t let go of the past. The fire. The loss. The weight of it all pressed down on me, suffocating me, even here in this city of rain.

I stood up abruptly, pacing around the small living room. I couldn’t keep doing this—living in the past, frozen in time. I had to move forward. I had to let go.

But how could I? How could I move on when the pieces of my life were scattered in so many different directions?

The doorbell rang, a sudden interruption that made me jump. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Hesitantly, I walked to the door and peeked through the peephole.

And there he was.

The man from the café.

For a moment, I froze, my heart racing. What was he doing here? How had he even found my apartment? I was about to turn away when the sound of his voice reached me, soft yet insistent.

“I know you’re in there,” he said, his tone almost amused. “I promise I’m not a stalker. I just wanted to talk.”

I stood there, still unsure of what to do. Part of me wanted to ignore him, slam the door shut and pretend I hadn’t heard him. But something kept me there, my hand on the doorknob, my pulse quickening.

I took a deep breath and opened the door a crack, just enough to see him standing there, looking down at me with an expression that was both calm and curious. He wasn’t wearing a coat, despite the rain, and his dark hair was damp, plastered to his forehead. He looked... out of place here, on my doorstep, in my quiet world.

“Can I come in?” he asked, his voice low and steady, as if he was aware that he was trespassing in my space but didn’t seem to care.

I hesitated. There was something about him, something about the way he carried himself, that made me want to say no. To shut him out, to keep everything just as it had been before.

But then I remembered the way his eyes had locked onto mine, the way he had seen right through the walls I’d so carefully built around myself. And in that moment, I realized that I wasn’t as strong as I thought I was. I didn’t have it all figured out.

Against my better judgment, I stepped aside and opened the door wider.

“Okay,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Come in.”

He didn’t hesitate, walking past me and into my apartment as if he’d done it a hundred times before. I closed the door behind him, suddenly feeling the weight of his presence in a way that made my chest tighten.

He took a moment to look around, his eyes scanning the modest space, as if assessing it. “Nice place,” he said finally, his gaze landing on me again.

I nodded, unsure of what to say. “It’s not much.”

He smiled, that same enigmatic smile, and then turned toward me. “I wasn’t sure you’d open the door. You seemed... distant, earlier.”

“I am distant,” I said, not bothering to hide the truth. “I’m not... looking for anything, especially not from strangers.”

He didn’t seem offended, just nodded as if he understood. “Fair enough,” he said, his voice softer now. “But I’m not here for anything other than conversation. I promise.”

I studied him, unsure of what to make of his words. He seemed sincere, but I had learned the hard way that sincerity wasn’t always a guarantee of honesty.

“So,” he continued, his tone light, almost teasing, “what’s your name, if we’re going to keep doing this weird dance?”

I felt my lips twitch into a reluctant smile, even though I didn’t want to. Something about him, despite everything, made me want to engage.

“I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to tell you my name,” I said, crossing my arms, trying to keep my distance. “But, for the record, I’m not a fan of small talk. So, let’s just say I’m a woman who likes her space.”

“Fair enough,” he said again, this time with a grin. “But everyone needs someone to talk to every now and then. Especially when the world feels like it’s closing in on you.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words landing heavy in the pit of my stomach. He didn’t know me. He didn’t know anything about the world I’d been trying to outrun.

But as he looked at me, his dark eyes softening just slightly, I couldn’t help but feel like maybe, just maybe, he did.