My Lost Love

 “Hey, wait!” I blinked into the sunlight, heart racing. I could’ve sworn I saw him across the street, that familiar stride, that same coat he always wore like he owned the world. But it wasn’t him. Just another man walking briskly, unaware of the storm he left behind in my chest. I lowered my suitcase slowly, eyes scanning the crowd one last time. He said he’d come. He promised. I should’ve known better. Maybe I was delusional to think I mattered enough for a proper goodbye. I’m just a girl after all — a schoolgirl at that — barely stepping into womanhood. What did I think I was to a man like Carl? His secret. His thrill. A hidden chapter in his well-written life. The bus station was noisy, full of people saying real goodbyes. Mothers wiping tears, couples hugging tightly, friends taking selfies. I stood there alone, trying not to fall apart. Maybe he got busy. Or maybe his wife called. Or maybe… he just didn’t care enough. I should have known this was always going to end like this — quiet and painful. My chest ached at the thought of him being free now. Free to take other girls to that same hotel. Free to laugh and kiss and hold someone else like he once held me. I should get going. Dad must be wondering why I haven’t boarded yet. At least I kept my promise — I told Carl I’d wait. I waited. He didn’t. “Getting impatient?” My heart stopped. I turned around. Carl stood there, hands in his coat pockets, smiling that smile that always made me weak. His salt-and-pepper hair was slightly tousled, like he'd rushed to get here. And his eyes — those dark, knowing eyes — locked with mine like magnets. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I thought you weren’t coming,” I said softly, shyly. He stepped closer. “I told you I would.” I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to cry, or scream, or fall into his arms and freeze time. But instead, I let him take my hand. Just like that, all my hurt melted into longing again. We didn’t say much. We never had to. Within minutes, we were in a cab, heading toward the hotel — our usual room. It wasn’t fancy, but it was ours. The walls had seen too much, heard even more. I lay beside him later, watching the ceiling. I wanted to ask, “Will you miss me?” but I already knew the answer. He had his wife. And, as I’d recently heard from whispered rumors, another girl — a college student. Prettier, maybe. Less complicated. More available. Who was I to him? A secret. A toy. A soft place to land when life got heavy. But I didn’t care. I loved him. And in the hours we spent together, I believed he loved me too. He made me forget how cold my home was. How my stepmother barely spoke to me unless she was criticizing. How my father, though well-meaning, had grown distant since the new marriage. Carl filled those empty spaces with whispers, touches, and stolen mornings. As I packed up again, Carl sat on the edge of the bed, watching me. “You’ll call?” he asked. I nodded, smiling faintly. “Will you answer?” He didn't reply. Outside, the sun had begun to set. My bus would leave soon. So would I — and maybe a piece of me would always stay behind in that room, with him. As I boarded, I didn’t look back. But I felt it — my heart splintering quietly inside me. The goodbye I’d waited for wasn’t sweet. It was hollow. And it was mine.