Chapter 2
1315 Words
Ava
She made coffee.
Not because she wanted to offer him comfort — she didn’t. Not really. But her hands needed something to do, and the ritual of it felt grounding. Familiar. Safe.
The gallery’s kitchenette was small and dim, tucked behind a curtain near the storage room. She didn’t invite him to follow, but when she came back out, he was still there — standing in front of that painting, the one with the sharp reds and splintered lines.
The one she’d painted after her brother died.
She handed him a chipped ceramic mug without a word. He took it like he remembered the weight of it.
“I didn’t know you were still painting,” he said.
“I wasn’t,” she replied. “Not until six months ago.”
“What changed?”
Ava shrugged, sipping her own coffee. Bitter. Too hot. “I got tired of pretending I was okay.”
He nodded slowly, like he understood. Maybe he did. But it didn’t matter — she wasn’t ready to let him all the way back in. Not yet. Not just because he’d shown up in the rain looking haunted and poetic and exactly the same.
“I don’t know why you’re here, Elias,” she said finally.
“I don’t either.”
“Try.”
He hesitated. Then, “I saw the article. The photo.”
She exhaled through her nose. Of course. It had always been like that with him — glimpses, fragments, just enough to keep her wondering if he was ever fully real.
“And what?” she asked. “You thought you’d drop in like nothing happened?”
“No,” he said, voice low. “I thought... I thought maybe I could look at you and not want to stay. But I can’t.”
That silenced her.
For a moment, all she could hear was the rain and the hum of the gallery lights. The space between them stretched taut, full of everything they weren’t saying.
Ava turned away. Her voice barely a whisper.
“You broke me, Jason.”
“I know.”
“I trusted you.”
“I know.”
“I waited.”
That one landed hard. She heard his breath catch.
“I know,” he said again, softer now.
She didn’t cry. She wouldn’t. Not tonight.
Instead, she asked the question that had haunted her for three years. The one she’d never dared voice.
“Why did you leave?”
Jason looked at her, eyes dark and hollowed out by things she couldn’t see.
“I was scared,” he said. “Of how much I needed you. Of how much of me you saw.”
She stared at him, jaw tight. “That’s not love.”
“No,” he said. “It’s fear. But I loved you anyway.”
Another silence. But this one felt different. Heavier.
She could feel her heartbeat in her throat, her fingertips, the base of her spine. She should ask him to leave. She should walk away.
Instead, she said, “The exhibit closes in an hour.”
His eyes flicked to hers. “And after?”
“I don’t know.”
She wasn’t ready to let him in.
But she wasn’t ready to let him go again, either.
flashback*
It was late spring, and the city was alive in a way it only could be when it was warm enough for people to spill into the streets, buzzing with heat and cigarette smoke. Everything felt lighter then — the way people smiled at strangers, the way the world seemed to move faster and slower all at once.
And Ava... Ava had been the sun at the center of it all.
They were sitting on the roof of her apartment building, the one with the view of the skyline and the broken-down water tower. She had a blanket spread out beneath them, but neither of them was touching it — both of them leaning against the edge, staring out into the sprawl of lights.
Her laughter was the loudest thing in the world to him, the only sound that mattered. Her head tipped back, her hair tumbling out of the loose bun she’d worn all day, eyes squinted against the sunset.
“Do you think we’re supposed to save each other?” she asked, her voice quiet, like she didn’t expect an answer.
He turned to look at her. Ava. Her sharp jawline, her unspoken sadness, the way she always seemed to carry more than she let on.
He wasn’t sure how to answer that. He wasn’t sure if he believed in saving people. Not anymore. The thought of being saved — of needing someone — felt like something that would break him apart.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “But I know I don’t want to let you go.”
She glanced at him then, her lips curving in a way that was almost sad, but also... affectionate? He couldn’t tell. The weight of it sat between them, heavy and unspoken. They hadn’t touched yet, not really — but there had always been that electricity, that current that zipped through the space between them, always there, always just out of reach.
And then, without warning, she shifted closer, her shoulder brushing his. For a second, everything felt real — too real. Like they could stay like this forever.
“You don’t have to let me go,” she said softly. “Not yet.”
The words hung in the air between them, a promise. Or maybe a lie. He couldn’t tell. He hadn’t let her in fully, hadn’t let anyone in fully since... since that night, and even now, that wall inside him felt impenetrable.
But with her, it almost didn’t matter. With her, the world felt like it was theirs to own.
She leaned her head on his shoulder, just for a moment. And for that moment, Elias let himself pretend. Pretend that things were simple. Pretend that love didn’t come with baggage, with broken pieces and old wounds.
But then the moment passed, and he remembered: love wasn’t simple. Not for him. Not after everything.
When she lifted her head, her expression had shifted. The weight of something unspoken had settled over her like a cloud. She looked at him — and for the first time, he saw the doubt in her eyes. The worry.
“ Jason, what’s going on with you?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
He didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t. There were things inside him he couldn’t say, things he didn’t know how to voice.
“I’m not...” he began, but the words failed him. He wanted to tell her the truth. That the past had carved deep enough scars that he couldn’t let anyone too close. Not even her.
“I’m not good enough for you,” he finally said, his voice tight with something he couldn’t name.
Her expression softened. She reached out, fingers brushing his cheek. The touch was like a jolt of electricity, and for a second, he thought he might let her in.
“You don’t have to be good enough for me, Jason,” she whispered. “You just have to be here.”
And for the first time, he wanted to be. He wanted to be there, with her, without all the broken parts that weighed him down.
But then his phone rang, harsh and jarring against the quiet. And just like that, everything shifted.
Ava pulled away, her eyes narrowing, not with anger, but with a strange, quiet understanding. She already knew. He didn’t have to tell her. It wasn’t that simple.
Jason stood up, not looking at her, not looking at anything. The moment shattered like glass, sharp and painful.
He never even saw the tear slip down her cheek.
- Writer
