Austin
I regretted the words the second they left my mouth.
Not minutes later. Not after I saw the door swing shut behind her. No. The second they were out there, hanging in the air like smoke after a firework misfire—loud, hot, ugly—I wanted to take them back. I wanted to stuff them back into my throat and pretend they never existed.
But I didn’t move fast enough.
She was already standing. Already shaking. Already storming past the baristas and out the door like I’d lit the match and burned the bridge in front of her. The bell over the coffee shop door jingled once - hollow and final.
And then she was gone.
I stood there, still breathing hard, fists clenched in my lap as if I could rewind the whole thing by force. The barista called out someone’s latte, and the world went on like no
