Chasing The Echo

It was supposed to be a normal Friday night for Amy. Work, home, wine, scroll, sleep. But fate never cared much for her plans. She was halfway in the door when she saw him again. Luca. The man who could make peace sound like a threat and danger feel like home.The last time we spoke, words were thrown like daggers promises broken, hearts tested. She told herself she’d moved on. But when his name lit up her phone an hour ago, curiosity won. And now here she is standing at the door of the dimly lit bar he said he’d be at, telling herself it’s just closure. He’s leaning against the wall when she walks in. Black shirt. Sleeves rolled up. Smile sharp enough to cut glass. The moment his eyes meet her’s, it’s over that pull, that gravity, it’s all still there. “Didn’t think you’d actually come,” he says, voice low and lazy, like he already knows he’s got her where he wants her. She smirk, masking the heartbeat in your throat. “Don’t flatter yourself, Luca. I was in the area.” He laughs quiet, dangerous. “You always say that right before you do something you shouldn’t.” And damn it, he’s right. She doesn’t answer right away. It’s easier to just look at him to pretend she’s not already caught in that quiet storm behind his eyes. Luca always had this way of filling a room without saying much. Even now, with music humming low and people moving all around, it’s like everything blurs but him. She slide’s into the booth across from him, keeping her distance. He notices. He always notices. “Still keeping your guard up,” he says, that half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t say I blame you.” She shrug, playing it cool. “You earned that.” For a second, he doesn’t respond. Just watches her the kind of stare that makes her want to fidget, but she refuse to give him that satisfaction. Finally, he says, “You think I don’t regret it?” There it is. The word you’ve been avoiding since everything fell apart regret. The memory flashes: his voice raised, her’s breaking, the door slamming. Her leaving before he could stop her, and him letting her go when she wanted him to fight. “I think,” she say’s softly, “you regret losing control, not losing me.” That hits. She can see it in the way his jaw tightens, in the silence that follows. The waitress comes by, and she order something simple, just to fill the space. But even then, the air feels charged like the past is sitting right there with her, waiting to be unpacked. When the waiter walks away, Luca leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You really believe that?” She meet his gaze, steady. “I don’t have to believe it. I lived it.” He studies her a moment longer, then nods slowly. “Guess I deserved that.” She almost say yeah, you did but something in his voice makes her pause. It’s not pride this time. It’s pain..