Beats Of The Heart

The Cold Goodbye

I put the note on the kitchen counter after folding it in half so neatly that it might have seemed a trivial effort towards lightening the blow. The paper was smooth to my fingertips, unwrinkled except for one precise fold. I wanted it simple.

Adrian had a tendency to overthink things and read too much into everything, always attempting to find meanings where none could be fathomed. He wanted words to carry meanness when, in fact, they did not. I couldn't let that be.

I tried not to figure this out all over again and turned away. The apartment was still dark in the early dawn light, an unparalleled silence made up of the echoes from last night. I felt the ghost of Adrian beside me as he reached for me with hopes of my staying a bit longer this time. I sighed. That was exactly why I had to be clear. No misunderstandings. No unnecessary complications.

I had warned him from the beginning-that was not meant to be anything more.

I put on my coat and shoes and looked around one last time. I left half a glass of water full on the counter; in the couch lay an imprint where I curled up with a book; there was a coffee cup he put beside mine. Little bits, little moments, but I wasn't about to let them mean more than they did.

I pulled the door closed behind me with a soft click.

I walked without anything in particular in mind as the city began to awaken around me. The air was crisp, cut the thought processes like a knife, and that was the distraction that welcomed me.

Adrian would be waking soon. He would find the note. He would read it once, twist and read it twice, probably once more, searching for something I might not have said.

I could picture the way his brow would furrow, his lips pressed into that placid line. I'd seen that more times than I could count.

I'd never meant to hurt him.

But I had to be straightforward.

This was something I couldn't allow to grow. Stasis was just not into me.

I sighed sharply and shoved my hands into my pockets. I was never the one to linger in one place, settle into someone else's life. It was all easier to keep it light. My heart would not get tangled into something messy and complicated. And despite all of Adrian's quiet intensity, he was messy the way emotions often were: more to him than that.

He wanted more,he deserved more.

By noon, I was back at my usual café, halfway through a lukewarm cup of coffee. My phone lay on the table, screen down, untouched. I knew he wouldn't call: not yet. He would think about it first. Try to work it out, to dissect my every word, to find out what he had missed.

I had learned it early on: people always look for deeper meaning in what they think is simple. I couldn't be some puzzle in Adrian's mind.

With that sigh, I turned my phone over. No messages.

Not sure whether I was to be relieved or disappointed.

Lying alone in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, I wondered if I had done the right thing.

I knew that Adrian was back in his apartment, looking at that note in the way he always did when something just didn't make sense to him.

And maybe, for the first time, I wished I could have written more.

But it was too late for that now. By dawn, the skies were slate gray, thick clouds rolling in as if on a tide that would never break. I curled my fingers around a steaming cup of coffee, the warmth doing nothing to chase the cold that had settled just beneath my skin.

No messages had come through.

I knew that much from the first. Adrian wasn't in a hurry-a fact of life that had always endeared him to me. He never spoke without thinking first. He never acted without intention. But today, those qualities ticked me off. Because I knew what he was doing. Sitting in that apartment of his, staring at the note, turning it in his hand as though another angle would expose something different.

It wasn't going to.

Nothing else. I left the café before I was finished with my bitter-tasting beverage once my feet had stepped out into the great cold. The wind slapped against my face, sharp to sting but welcome. Anything was better than nothing.

Adrian wasn't at work. I took the long way around, walking past Adrian's building despite knowing I shouldn't. His office window was dark; the blinds were closed. Part of me desperately wished I could knock on his door, force him to notice and just blink. But I just kept moving. Telling myself that it didn’t matter.

By nightfall, I still could not stop thinking about that note I had left for him. I had meant to be brief: concise and unemotional. But when I closed my eyes, I could see Adrian's hands holding it, his fingers brushing over the edges in that careful manner of his. I knew Adrian. I understood his rhythms. What it meant if he hadn’t replied was that he was thinking. Processing.

Or maybe I was just losing him.

I wasn’t sure which was worse.

The knock came late. Not urgent, but purposeful. The kind of knock that said: I know you’re awake.

I paused to think whether to ignore it. But even as this entered my mind, my feet were already moving.

I opened the door.

Adrian stood there, his features unreadable, his brilliant brown eyes trained on mine in that way that always took my breath away. He held the note between his fingers, almost as if he’d forgotten about it.

“This is not enough," he said.

I swallowed."It was all I had to say."

The muscle along his jaw clenched. "I don't believe that." I leaned against the doorframe with arms folded. "Then you don't know me as well as you think."

A silence fell between us, pregnant with unspoken words. I knew Adrian would give me enough rope to hang myself if I gave him enough time. He was patient in ways I never had been.

"I need to understand," he said finally. "That's all."

"Understand what?"

"You."

I gulped. My eyes fell on the note in his hand. It wasn't crumpled. The edges weren't folded or beaten. It was perfect, as if it were something delicate, something worth keeping safe.

I sighed. "You think too much, Adrian."

He let out a short breath-almost a laugh, but not quite. "And you want to avoid it."

This wasn't an accusation. This was just a simple truth stating a fact.

I didn't say anything.

Then he extended the note toward me. "Take it back."

I hesitated. "Why?"

His gaze was steady. "Because if that's really all you have to say, then you should be able to look me in the eye in case you choose to say it."

My fingers curled, but I didn't take it.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, exasperation creeping into his voice. "I don't want to pressure you, but I can't just let it sit in silence. If you want to walk away, say so. If you're done, tell me. But don't leave me guessing."

My chest tightened at the sincerity in his words. Because I wasn't sure I could say it. And because I wasn't sure that I wanted to.

I looked at him, really looked at him. The dark bags under his eyes. The tension in his shoulders. The way he held himself like a prisoner waiting for the end of judgment. “Adrian…” I whispered.

He stood still. He wouldn’t take his eyes off.

I didn’t say anything for a long while after that. And he let me. That was Adrian; he always gave me space to breathe, even when it nearly tore him up inside.

Maybe this was just the problem; maybe he deserved someone who wouldn’t stop him from moving ahead.

I traced my fingers over the note but didn’t take it. Instead, I stepped back just enough to let him inside.

He hesitated a moment before he actually stepped in.

The door clicked shut behind him, and for the first time in days, the weight resting on my chest felt a little less heavy.