Almost Again
1407 Words
Elara woke with the feeling that something had already gone wrong.
It was not a sound or a thought. It was the absence of peace. Her chest felt tight, like she had been holding her breath for too long even in sleep. When she opened her eyes, the morning light looked dull, filtered through clouds that promised rain but delivered none.
Almosts lingered in her mind.
Almost reaching for him. Almost hearing him say something different. Almost believing that understanding his pain would change the outcome.
It had not.
She lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, reminding herself of what she had decided. Distance was not punishment. Distance was self-respect. If Rowan could not choose her, then she would stop standing where he could almost reach her.
She got out of bed and moved through her routine slowly, deliberately. Shower. Clothes. Coffee she barely tasted. She chose an outfit that made her feel steady, not hopeful. Neutral colors. Nothing soft.
At work, she arrived early.
The office was quiet, the kind of quiet that made thoughts louder. She took her seat and opened her laptop, focusing on the familiar comfort of tasks and structure. Numbers did not hesitate. Deadlines did not look at her like they wanted something they refused to claim.
Rowan arrived later.
She did not look up when she sensed him.
She felt him anyway.
His presence carried weight. Not loud, not obvious. Just enough to make the air shift. She kept her eyes on her screen, fingers moving with purpose. She would not flinch. She would not wait.
Hours passed like that.
When meetings were called, she took seats far from him. When questions were asked, she answered without meeting his gaze. Professional. Controlled. Calm.
It was working.
Until it wasn’t.
The system failure hit just after noon. A sudden issue that pulled several departments together, tension rising as voices overlapped. Elara was pulled into the conference room with others, her chair scraping softly against the floor as she sat.
Rowan was already there.
Across the table.
The room felt smaller instantly.
They worked through the problem efficiently. Elara focused on the data in front of her, refusing to acknowledge how aware she was of him. She could feel his attention like a heat on her skin. Every time she shifted, she knew he noticed.
She did not give him anything.
When the issue was resolved, people began to leave. Laughter returned. Conversations broke off into pairs. The pressure eased.
Too slowly.
Elara gathered her things quickly, intent on leaving before the room emptied completely.
“Elara.”
His voice stopped her mid-step.
She closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself. Then she turned.
“Yes?”
“We need to talk,” Rowan said.
Her jaw tightened. “No, we don’t.”
“Yes,” he said, quieter now. “We do.”
The room was almost empty. One person remained at the far end, packing slowly. Elara kept her tone level.
“You were clear,” she said. “Distance. I’m respecting that.”
“I’m not,” he replied.
That caught her off guard.
She searched his face, finding tension etched there. His eyes looked darker than usual, shadowed by something he was not controlling as well as he thought.
“That’s not my problem,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I need you to walk away.”
Her heart stuttered. “Then stop calling my name.”
He took a step closer. Not invading her space. Just close enough to make the air between them heavy.
“I’m trying,” he said. “And failing.”
She swallowed. “This is exactly why I said we shouldn’t keep doing this.”
“I know.”
“Then leave me alone.”
“I can’t,” he said.
The honesty unsettled her more than anger would have.
She lowered her voice. “Rowan. You are crossing a line.”
“I crossed it the moment I let myself want you,” he said.
Her chest tightened painfully.
“This is not fair,” she said. “You don’t get to pull me close and then push me away whenever fear catches up to you.”
“I’m not pulling you close,” he said. “You’re already there.”
She laughed once, hollow. “Only because you keep leaving the door open.”
He flinched.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
“I heard you,” Elara said suddenly.
His eyes sharpened. “Heard what?”
“Last night,” she continued. “What you said. About losing someone.”
The color drained from his face.
“You shouldn’t have,” he said.
“I did,” she replied. “And now I understand why you keep slapping me with rejection instead of just walking away.”
His jaw clenched. “You don’t understand anything.”
“I understand enough,” she said softly. “You are terrified of choosing me.”
“That’s not it,” he said too quickly.
“It is,” she said. “You’re not protecting me. You’re protecting yourself from loving someone again.”
Silence fell hard between them.
Rowan looked away, his hands curling into fists. “You think this is easy?”
“No,” she said. “I think it’s selfish.”
That hit.
He turned back to her, anger flashing briefly before it collapsed into something raw.
“If I choose you,” he said, voice low, “and it ends the same way, I will not survive it.”
Her breath caught.
“That is not my burden to carry,” she said quietly.
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I won’t put it on you.”
“You already have,” she whispered.
His gaze dropped to her hands, then rose again. Slowly, as if against his own will, he lifted one hand. It hovered near her arm, hesitating.
“Don’t,” she said.
His fingers brushed her skin anyway.
The contact sent a sharp, unwanted ache through her.
“Rowan,” she warned.
He pulled his hand back like he’d been burned.
“I can’t keep doing this,” he said suddenly, stepping away. “Standing close to you. Pretending it doesn’t matter.”
“Then stop pretending,” she said.
“I can’t choose you,” he replied, voice hard now. “Not now. Not ever.”
The words landed like a slap.
Elara felt something inside her finally give way.
“Then this ends,” she said.
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Good,” she whispered.
She walked past him without another look.
That night, Elara cried.
Not loudly. Not in pieces. Just a steady release of grief she had been holding back. She cried for the almosts. For the version of him that wanted her but refused to reach. For herself, for staying longer than she should have.
By morning, something had shifted.
She did not feel lighter. She felt clearer.
At work, she avoided Rowan completely. She did not look for him. She did not wait for him. She existed without orbiting his presence.
By afternoon, whispers began.
Elara noticed the looks first. Then Maya’s careful tone.
“Did you hear?” Maya asked.
“Hear what?” Elara replied.
Maya hesitated. “Rowan requested a transfer.”
The words knocked the breath from her lungs.
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Why?”
Maya’s eyes softened. “He said it was necessary.”
Necessary.
The word echoed painfully.
Later, near closing time, Elara found Rowan by the elevators. He looked tired. Resolved.
“You’re leaving,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Because of me?”
He met her gaze. “Because of you.”
Her chest tightened. “That doesn’t make this right.”
“Staying wouldn’t either,” he said.
She nodded slowly. “So this is how you solve things.”
“It’s the only way I know how.”
The elevator doors opened.
“For what it’s worth,” he said softly, “wanting you was never the mistake.”
“Then what was?” she asked.
His eyes darkened. “Almost choosing you.”
He stepped inside.
The doors closed.
Elara stood there, understanding something terrible and unavoidable.
Distance wasn’t saving either of them.
It was setting the stage for something worse.
- Writer
