Chapter 6: What Was Left Behind
961 Words
A Silence That Feels Too Loud
Jamie had never been great at handling silence—especially not when it came from Alex.
They sat across from each other at the small café, the hum of conversation and clinking coffee cups filling the space around them. Yet, between them, the quiet stretched too long, too heavy, as if neither of them knew how to break it.
Alex stirred his coffee absentmindedly. "You’re quieter than usual."
Jamie let out a short breath. "Just thinking."
"About?"
He hesitated. How was he supposed to put into words the storm inside him?
"Everything," he finally said.
Alex studied him for a moment before nodding. "Same."
It was a simple response, but it held so much more than the word itself.
Jamie shifted in his seat, fingers lightly tapping against the ceramic mug in front of him. The warmth of the coffee had long faded, but he hadn’t taken more than a sip.
The way Alex looked at him—calm, unreadable, patient—made Jamie feel even more restless.
"I didn't think we'd ever sit like this again," Jamie admitted, the words slipping out before he could second-guess them.
Alex's gaze softened, a small sigh escaping him. "Neither did I."
He swirled the liquid in his cup, eyes focused on something distant. "But here we are."
Here we are.
Jamie wanted to believe that those words meant something more than coincidence.
---
Old Wounds, Unfinished Conversations
Back in his apartment later that evening, Jamie found himself staring at his laptop screen. The blank document remained untouched, the cursor blinking expectantly as if waiting for him to make a move.
But nothing came.
His mind was elsewhere—stuck in the past, in the memories that refused to fade.
It had always been like this. Whenever he was struggling, whenever doubt took root, his thoughts inevitably led him back to Alex.
Had it always been this way?
Maybe.
Maybe that was why seeing him again after so many years felt like standing in the eye of a storm.
Jamie closed his laptop with a frustrated sigh, leaning back against the couch. The city outside his window was alive with lights, the distant hum of traffic a constant background noise.
His phone buzzed on the coffee table. A message.
Alex: You okay?
Jamie exhaled sharply. He hadn't expected Alex to reach out.
Jamie: Yeah. Just tired.
There was a pause before Alex’s next message came through.
Alex: You always say that when you don’t want to talk.
Jamie hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
What was he supposed to say? That his thoughts wouldn’t stop circling the past? That he didn’t know how to handle everything resurfacing all at once?
Instead, he settled on:
Jamie: Maybe.
Alex didn’t reply immediately. When he did, it was just one word.
Alex: Come.
Jamie frowned.
Jamie: Come where?
Alex: My place. I’ll send you the address.
Jamie hesitated. It wasn’t a good idea. He knew that.
But when Alex sent the location, he found himself reaching for his keys anyway.
---
Flashback: The Last Goodbye
Sixteen years old. The day Alex left.
They stood in front of Alex’s house, the moving truck parked by the curb.
Jamie had forced himself to smile. "Guess this is it, huh?"
Alex nodded, but he wasn’t smiling. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and his shoulders were tense.
"You’ll write, right?" Jamie asked, his voice slightly too eager.
Alex gave him a look. "Of course I will."
Jamie wanted to believe that.
"You better," he muttered, kicking at a loose rock on the pavement.
Alex smirked, nudging him with his shoulder. "And you better write me back."
Jamie rolled his eyes. "Obviously."
It had felt like a promise. One they both intended to keep.
For the first few months, they had.
Emails. Texts. Late-night calls.
But then, somewhere along the way, Jamie lost Alex’s email. His phone broke, and with it, their conversations stopped.
Alex had moved to a different city, a different life.
And Jamie?
Jamie had been left behind.
---
Back to the Present: A Late-Night Visit
Jamie arrived at Alex’s place just past 11 p.m. The building was older, but well-maintained, tucked away in a quieter part of the city.
Alex was already waiting at the entrance.
"Didn’t think you’d actually come," Alex admitted as Jamie stepped closer.
Jamie shrugged. "Neither did I."
Alex let out a small chuckle, shaking his head as he led Jamie inside. His apartment was neat, organized—nothing like Jamie had imagined.
Alex motioned toward the couch. "Sit."
Jamie did, watching as Alex disappeared into the kitchen before returning with two glasses of whiskey.
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "You planning to get me drunk?"
Alex smirked. "Just making sure you don’t run away mid-conversation."
Jamie rolled his eyes but accepted the drink. The warmth of the liquor settled in his chest, grounding him.
"Why did you ask me to come here?" Jamie finally asked, setting his glass down.
Alex leaned back against the couch, studying him.
"Because," Alex said, "we never really talked about it."
Jamie stiffened. He didn’t need to ask what it was.
Their lost years. Their broken connection. The weight of everything that was left unsaid.
"I don’t know where to start," Jamie admitted, his voice quieter now.
Alex exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Me neither."
A long pause. Then, Alex spoke again.
"But maybe we don’t have to start from the beginning," he said, voice softer. "Maybe we just start here."
Jamie looked at him, at the familiarity in Alex’s expression, at the quiet hope in his eyes.
And for the first time in a long time, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t too late.
- Writer
