When we were almost forever

Chapter 2[Part II]– Back Where It Started

I barely slept.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him standing at my door like some unfinished sentence life had decided to continue.

Ethan.

Even thinking his name felt dangerous.

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the fan above me and the occasional sound of a car passing outside. This room used to feel safe. When I was younger, I used to hide here whenever life got too loud—family arguments downstairs, expectations I didn’t know how to carry, the pressure of being the daughter everyone expected something from.

Now, even here, I felt restless.

Because he had looked at me like nothing between us had ever really ended.

And maybe that was the problem.

Maybe it hadn’t.

I turned to my side and groaned into my pillow.

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered.

I was not going to let one unexpected visit ruin my peace.

I had work to do.

Documents to sort. Calls to make. Family issues waiting for me downstairs like unpaid debts.

I was here for responsibility.

Not romance.

Definitely not emotional damage disguised as eye contact.

Morning came too quickly.

The sunlight slipped through my curtains like it had permission, dragging me out of sleep I never really had.

I got ready slowly, choosing routine over thought.

Shower. Clothes. Hair. Minimal makeup.

Control what you can.

That had always been my rule.

By the time I walked downstairs, I had almost convinced myself yesterday hadn’t affected me.

Almost.

Until I found my aunt in the kitchen watching me like she knew everything.

She didn’t look up from her tea when she said, “You saw him.”

I froze halfway to the fridge.

I should’ve known.

Small towns didn’t need social media. They had aunties.

I sighed. “Good morning to you too.”

That made her smile slightly.

“So you did.”

I grabbed a bottle of water, mostly to avoid eye contact.

“It was nothing.”

“Mhm.”

That single sound carried years of disbelief.

I leaned against the counter. “Why does everyone in this town act like privacy is a personal attack?”

“Because everyone here watched you grow up,” she said simply. “And because some stories are hard to forget.”

There it was again.

That thing everyone did.

Talking around the past like it was fragile glass.

I twisted the cap off the bottle. “Well, people should learn.”

She studied me for a moment, quieter now.

“Did you?”

I hated questions like that.

Questions that sounded simple but weren’t.

I looked away first.

“I didn’t come back for him.”

“I know,” she said.

Then after a pause—

“But maybe you needed to.”

I shook my head immediately. “No.”

Too fast.

Too sharp.

She noticed.

Of course she did.

But she let it go.

Smart woman.

Instead, she slid a folder across the counter.

“The property papers. Your uncle wants you to look through them before lunch.”

Business.

Good.

Safe.

I took the folder gratefully.

Something practical. Something that didn’t have brown eyes and a voice I still remembered too clearly.

Perfect.

“I’ll handle it.”

She nodded, but just before I walked away, she added—

“He still asks about you.”

I stopped.

Just for a second.

Then kept walking.

I refused to ask who.

I refused to care.

And I definitely refused to admit that my heart had started beating faster.

______________________________________________

The café on Maple Street looked exactly the same.

Same chipped sign outside.

Same uneven wooden tables.

Same smell of coffee and cinnamon hanging in the air.

It should’ve been comforting.

Instead, it felt like walking into a memory I had no permission to revisit.

I pushed the door open and immediately regretted coming.

Because of course he was there.

Of course.

Ethan sat near the window, sunlight cutting across half his face, a cup of coffee in front of him like he belonged there.

Like he belonged everywhere I was trying to breathe.

For one reckless second, I considered turning around and leaving.

But he had already seen me.

Too late.

His eyes met mine, calm and unreadable.

Like yesterday hadn’t shaken him at all.

Annoying.

Very annoying.

I walked to the counter, pretending I couldn’t feel his attention following me.

“One iced coffee,” I told the girl behind the register.

She smiled too brightly. “Amara! You’re back!”

Of course.

I gave her a polite smile. “Apparently.”

She laughed like that was charming.

It wasn’t.

As I waited, I could feel the silence from his table.

Not literal silence—people were talking, cups were clinking—but the kind of silence that exists when someone’s presence fills the room anyway.

I should leave.

Take the coffee. Walk out.

Simple.

Easy.

Which is probably why I didn’t.

“Still avoiding me?”

His voice came from much closer than expected.

I turned.

He was standing beside me now.

Too close.

Again.

I folded my arms. “Still assuming everything is about you?”

A corner of his mouth lifted.

Not quite a smile.

More dangerous than one.

“Only when it clearly is.”

I hated that I almost smiled.

I hated even more that he noticed.

The girl behind the counter placed my drink down with the kind of excitement only people with no emotional investment could have.

Perfect timing.

I reached for it immediately.

Ethan reached too.

Our fingers brushed.

Electric.

Unfair.

Stupid.

I pulled back first.

Of course I did.

His expression changed slightly, like he felt it too.

That made it worse.

I picked up the drink and stepped back.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

He tilted his head slightly. “I didn’t say it did.”

“You were thinking it.”

“That sounds like mind-reading.”

“That sounds like experience.”

For a second, we just stood there.

Same town.

Same café.

Different people pretending we weren’t still carrying old versions of ourselves.

Finally, he sighed softly.

“Can we talk?”

I laughed once. Short. Sharp.

“We are talking.”

“You know what I mean.”

Unfortunately, I did.

And that was exactly why I didn’t want to do it.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Amara—”

“No.”

That got quieter.

More honest.

I looked at him properly then.

At the patience in his face. The restraint. The way he never pushed too hard but somehow still made me feel cornered.

That used to be one of the things I loved most about him.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because love doesn’t disappear just because it becomes inconvenient.

“I’m serious,” I said. “Whatever conversation you think we need to have… we don’t.”

His jaw tightened.

“We never finished it.”

There it was.

The truth neither of us wanted but both of us knew.

The ending we never got.

I looked down at my drink because it was easier than looking at him.

“Some things end without permission.”

“And some things don’t end at all.”

My throat tightened.

I hated how easily he could still do that.

Take one sentence and make it feel like a confession.

I forced myself to breathe.

Then I said the only thing that felt safe.

“That was years ago.”

His answer came immediately.

“I know.”

And somehow, that hurt more.

Because he wasn’t denying it.

He was saying time hadn’t changed anything.

Or maybe… it hadn’t changed enough.

I shook my head.

“I have things to do.”

A weak excuse.

We both knew it.

But he let me have it.

He stepped back once.

Just enough space to breathe again.

“Okay.”

That should have been the end.

It should have been enough.

But as I turned to leave, he said quietly—

“I waited for you longer than I should have.”

I stopped.

My entire body went still.

The café noise faded.

Everything did.

Because there are some sentences that don’t sound dramatic.

They just sound true.

And truth is always louder.

I turned slowly.

He wasn’t looking at me like he wanted pity.

Or forgiveness.

Just honesty.

And somehow that was worse.

I swallowed hard.

“You shouldn’t have.”

His expression didn’t change.

“Probably not.”

I nodded once.

Because I didn’t trust myself to do anything else.

Then I walked away.

This time, I didn’t look back.

Because if I did—

I wasn’t sure I would leave

______________________________________________

By the time I got home, my thoughts were louder than the town itself.

I dropped the folder on the table and sat down on the edge of the couch, staring at absolutely nothing.

I waited for the anger.

For the frustration.

For the easy version of this where I could blame him and move on.

But emotions were never that kind.

Because underneath all of it—

under the irritation, the history, the unfinished words—

there was something worse.

Something softer.

Something I had spent years trying not to name.

And the worst part?

It was still there.

Alive.

Stubborn.

Waiting.

I leaned back and covered my face with my hands.

This was exactly why I had stayed away.

Not because I was too busy.

Not because life moved on.

But because some people can ruin your peace just by existing.

And Ethan—

Ethan had always known exactly how to do that.

I closed my eyes.

And for the first time since coming back, I admitted the truth I had been trying to outrun.

Coming home wasn’t the mistake.

Seeing him again wasn’t either.

The real mistake…

was believing I had ever stopped loving him.