He's Angry
1616 Words
I didn’t expect him to see us.
That was my first thought when I saw Andre standing across the street, his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on me and Arka.
Arka had just walked me out of the bookstore. We were laughing about something stupid, about how the cat from last week had followed us again and tried to steal his scarf. It wasn’t a big moment. It wasn’t a date. It was just two people talking, two cups of coffee, and a walk that didn’t feel heavy.
But the way Andre looked at me, it was like I had done something unforgivable.
---
“Pinkan,” he said when he crossed the street. His voice was flat, too controlled.
“Andre,” I said. My mouth went dry.
Arka noticed. “You know him?” he asked me quietly.
I nodded.
Andre’s eyes moved to Arka, then back to me. “Who’s this?”
“A coworker,” I said. “From the bookstore.”
“Coworker,” he repeated. Like he was tasting the word and didn’t like it.
Arka shifted. “I should go,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah,” Andre said, not looking at him.
Arka left quickly. I watched him go, and then I was alone with Andre on the sidewalk, the city noise suddenly too loud.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I came back,” he said. “I said I would. A week, remember?”
“It’s been two,” I said.
“I know,” he said. “I lost track.”
We stood there. People passed us. No one cared.
“You’re seeing him,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“No,” I said. “We’re just talking.”
“Talking,” he said. “Like this?”
He gestured between me and the empty space where Arka had been.
“It’s not what you think,” I said.
“Then what is it?” he asked. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were happy.”
The word hit me. Happy. I didn’t know when the last time I’d been happy was. Maybe last week, with Arka, laughing about a cat. Maybe before that, when I didn’t have to think about Andre at all.
“I am allowed to talk to people,” I said.
“I didn’t say you weren’t,” he said. “I just didn’t expect—”
“What?” I cut him off. “You didn’t expect me to move on? You left, Andre. You left a note and you disappeared.”
“I came back,” he said again.
“Two weeks later,” I said. “After I started breathing again.”
His jaw tightened. “So that’s what this is. You’re replacing me.”
“I’m not replacing anyone,” I said. “I’m just… living.”
He stepped closer. “You don’t get to do that.”
“Excuse me?” I said.
“You don’t get to laugh with someone else,” he said. “Not when we’re not done.”
“We are done,” I said. “Or we were. You made that clear.”
“I never said we were done,” he said. “I said I needed space.”
“Space doesn’t mean you get to control who I talk to when you’re gone,” I said.
“Maybe it does,” he said. “Maybe I thought you’d wait.”
I stared at him. “Wait for what? For you to come back when you’re ready? While I sit in that apartment and rot?”
“I didn’t ask you to rot,” he said.
“You didn’t ask anything,” I said. “You just left.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I messed up. I know. But seeing you with him, it… it made me angry.”
“I’m not your property,” I said.
“I know that,” he said. “But I still felt it. Possessive. Stupid. I can’t help it.”
“Try,” I said. “Because I’m not doing this again. I’m not shrinking myself so you feel better.”
He looked down. “I don’t want you to shrink.”
“Then don’t act like you own me,” I said.
We were quiet for a long time. A bus passed. Someone honked.
“I miss you,” he said finally.
The words cracked something in me. I wanted to say I missed him too. I wanted to say come home. But I remembered the silence, the nights I ate alone, the way I cried in the bathroom so my mother wouldn’t hear.
“You don’t get to miss me just because someone else made me smile,” I said.
“I know,” he said. “But I do.”
“I’m not going back to how it was,” I said. “Not if it means I have to stop talking to people. Not if it means I have to hide.”
“I’m not asking you to hide,” he said.
“Then what are you asking?” I said.
He didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just… I don’t want to lose you.”
“You already did,” I said. “When you walked out.”
His face crumpled a little. “Pinkan.”
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t say my name like that.”
“Like what?” he asked.
“Like you still have the right,” I said.
He closed his eyes. “Maybe I don’t.”
We stood there, the space between us full of everything we hadn’t said.
“I have to go,” I said finally.
“Can we talk later?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I need to think.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
I walked away. I didn’t look back. But I felt his eyes on me the whole time.
---
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
I kept replaying his face when he saw me with Arka. The anger, the hurt, the something else I couldn’t name.
Possessive, he’d said. Stupid. I can’t help it.
But he could. He could help it. He could choose not to act like I belonged to him. He could choose to trust me.
Arka texted me.
_Hey, sorry about earlier. Hope it wasn’t awkward._
I didn’t reply.
My mother knocked on my door. “You okay?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
She came in and sat on the edge of my bed. “Was that Andre?”
“Yes,” I said.
“He looked mad,” she said.
“He was,” I said. “Because he saw me with someone.”
“You’re allowed to have friends,” she said.
“I know,” I said. “But he doesn’t think so.”
“Then he doesn’t get to decide,” she said.
I nodded. But it was harder than it sounded.
---
The next day, Andre came to the bookstore.
I saw him through the window before he came in. He stood there for a minute, like he was gathering courage.
When he walked in, Arka was at the register.
Andre went straight to me. “Can we talk?”
“Not here,” I said.
“Outside,” he said.
I followed him out.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “For yesterday. For how I acted.”
“You were angry,” I said.
“I was,” he said. “But I don’t get to be. Not after what I did.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I left,” he said. “And I expected you to stay frozen in place until I came back. That’s not fair.”
“No,” I said. “It’s not.”
“I don’t want to control you,” he said. “I don’t want to be that guy.”
“Then don’t be,” I said.
He nodded. “I’m trying.”
“Trying isn’t enough,” I said. “You have to do it.”
“I know,” he said. “Can I start now?”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means I’ll listen,” he said. “To what you want. To what you need. And I won’t get angry if it doesn’t include me.”
I looked at him. “That’s a big promise.”
“I know,” he said. “But I mean it.”
We were quiet again.
“I can’t promise anything back,” I said.
“I’m not asking you to,” he said.
“Then what are you asking?” I said.
“Just… let me try,” he said. “Let me show you I can change.”
I didn’t answer.
He didn’t push.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll go.”
He turned to leave.
“Andre,” I said.
He stopped.
“I’m not yours,” I said. “But I’m not his either.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“And I don’t know what I want,” I said.
“That’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to.”
He left.
I stood there, my heart pounding, my hands shaking.
Possessive. Angry. Hurt.
But maybe, just maybe, willing to change.
I didn’t know if it was enough.
But for the first time, I thought it might be.
- Writer
