when we see
1844 Words
The train rocked gently as it wound its way toward Brooklyn, the lights of Manhattan fading behind him like a memory he hadn’t meant to revisit. Theo leaned his head back against the window, Lena’s face still imprinted on the inside of his mind.
Six years.
It was unreal—how one day could scrape open something he thought had healed. Her voice, her eyes, that nervous tuck of hair behind her ear—it all came rushing back like it had never left. But she had left. Without explanation, without even a goodbye. Just gone.
And yet today, there she was. Coffee in hand. Eyes apologizing before her mouth did. And God, it was easy—too easy—to fall back into that rhythm. The conversation, the laughter, the way she looked at him like he still meant something.
But then the phone buzzed. Mark.
Theo clenched his jaw.
He hadn’t asked. Hadn’t wanted to know. But of course there was someone. A woman like Lena didn’t stay untangled for long. And she didn’t owe him anything, not after all this time. Still, the sting surprised him.
The train rolled into Bedford Avenue, and he stepped out, the cold slapping him awake. His studio apartment above the bakery smelled faintly of cinnamon, but even that comfort felt distant tonight.
He poured a glass of water and stood at the window, watching life move below him. Horns, laughter, headlights. All of it carrying on. And somewhere in the city, Lena was probably on the phone, explaining something to someone who had a name Theo already hated.
But he wasn’t angry at her. He was angry at himself—for hoping.
Lena — Midnight
She hadn’t called Mark back. Not yet.
She’d stared at her phone, then paced, then poured another glass of wine. The apartment still held the faint echo of Theo’s presence—his laugh, the warmth where he’d sat, the quiet gravity of his eyes when he said, “Are you still running?”
The question haunted her.
Mark was safe. Steady. The kind of man you built a life with. He liked plans. They had dinner twice a week, texted daily, slept together occasionally when the timing was right. It was practical. Clean.
But never electric.
With Theo, it was never clean. It was chaos and jazz and too much wine and too many feelings and all the right words spoken at all the wrong times.
She sat on her bed, staring at the book draft open on her laptop. The cursor blinked like it was daring her to do something brave.
She thought of Theo’s voice. “You had that fire.”
Maybe it wasn’t gone. Maybe she just buried it beneath all the things she thought she was supposed to want.
She opened a new document.
Flashback Six Years Ago
Spring at Emerson College was all golden light and restless hearts. Finals were over, futures uncertain, and everything smelled like fresh beginnings. Theo had found Lena barefoot on the quad, sprawled across a patch of sun-warmed grass, her notebook open beside her, pages fluttering in the breeze like wings.
He dropped down beside her without asking.
“You look like a girl waiting for a sign,” he said, shielding his eyes from the sun.
She turned her head slowly, smiling. “And you look like a boy pretending not to be in love with me.”
He blinked. “I’m not pretending.”
It stunned her—how easily he said it. No fear. No hesitation.
She sat up. “Theo—”
“I know we’re leaving soon. I know you’re scared. So am I. But I’d rather be scared with you than sure without you.”
She didn’t say anything for a long time. Just stared at him, as if memorizing the exact moment he gave her everything.
And that night, she kissed him under the library arch, the air thick with lilacs and unspoken promises.
Present Day — Lena
The cursor stopped blinking.
Lena leaned back, her fingers trembling slightly. Her first page was done—half memoir, half confession. It wasn’t polished, and it wasn’t safe. But it was honest.
She hadn’t written like this in years.
The city hummed beyond her windows, indifferent and alive. She checked her phone. No messages from Theo. She hadn’t expected one. Not tonight.
But still, she typed out a message and let it sit unsent.
“I never stopped thinking about you.”
She didn’t hit send. Not yet.
Instead, she saved the draft, closed her laptop, and stood up. She walked to the window and looked out over the city that had brought him back to her doorstep.
Maybe some stories didn’t end.
Maybe they just paused—waiting for the right page to begin again.
deletes the message she didn’t send, writes a new one… and this time,
The morning light poured in through linen curtains, soft and silver. Lena blinked awake slowly, her body warm beneath a blanket she didn’t remember pulling over herself. For a moment, she lay still, the silence of her apartment louder than usual.
And then she remembered.
Theo. Yesterday. The conversation. The almost-kiss. The phone call.
She sat up too quickly, her heart pounding as if it were trying to race back into that moment. She reached for her laptop and reopened the draft from last night.
It wasn’t bad. Raw, yes. Unfiltered. But for the first time in years, it felt like her voice again.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to keep writing—when a knock came at the door.
Three short raps. Familiar.
She froze.
Another knock.
She got up slowly, glanced at her phone. Mark.
She opened the door.
“Hey,” he said, stepping in without waiting. He was in business-casual, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. “You okay? You didn’t answer last night.”
Lena crossed her arms. “I saw the calls. I needed some space.”
“From me?” he asked, setting the bag down.
“From everything.”
Mark exhaled, not angry—just confused. “Look, if something’s wrong, just say it. Don’t vanish.”
She said nothing. He scanned her face.
“Did something happen?” he asked.
She wanted to lie. But her silence was already too loud.
“I saw someone,” she said. “Someone from before.”
His eyes sharpened. “Before us?”
“Yes. Before everything. He’s part of the reason I started writing again.”
“You’re writing again?” Mark asked, as if that was the bigger news.
She nodded. “Last night.”
He studied her, something unreadable in his expression. “Okay. Well. I’m glad. I think.”
She didn’t respond. Not with her voice, anyway.
---
Across Town — Theo
Theo held his phone, thumb hovering over Lena’s contact. The unsent message stared back at him:
> I shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye either.
But he deleted it. Again.
He wasn’t sure what Lena wanted. He wasn’t sure what he wanted. Closure? Or a second chance?
Sometimes they looked the same.
---
Back at Lena’s – Later
Mark left after lunch, with a kiss that didn’t quite land. The silence returned.
Lena wandered into her bookshelf, running her hand across the spines. Old notebooks, college anthologies, forgotten journals. And then—stuffed between two hardcovers—she found it.
A folded letter. Faded. Torn along the edge.
Her name. In Theo’s handwriting.
She unfolded it with trembling fingers.
> Lena,
I don’t know if I’ll get the timing right. I never do. But if you feel it—anything at all—don’t run. Just say something. I’ll be waiting.
—T
She didn’t remember receiving it.
Or maybe she’d refused to.
She sat down hard, the letter shaking in her hands. She thought about what she’d almost done yesterday. What she’d almost said.
Then she picked up her phone.
She didn’t rewrite the message this time. She just typed:
> “Can we talk?”
And she hit send.
And then she remembered.
Theo. Yesterday. The conversation. The almost-kiss. The phone call.
She sat up too quickly, her heart pounding as if it were trying to race back into that moment. She reached for her laptop and reopened the draft from last night.
It wasn’t bad. Raw, yes. Unfiltered. But for the first time in years, it felt like her voice again.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to keep writing—when a knock came at the door.
Three short raps. Familiar.
She froze.
Another knock.
She got up slowly, glanced at her phone. Mark.
She opened the door.
“Hey,” he said, stepping in without waiting. He was in business-casual, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. “You okay? You didn’t answer last night.”
Lena crossed her arms. “I saw the calls. I needed some space.”
“From me?” he asked, setting the bag down.
“From everything.”
Mark exhaled, not angry—just confused. “Look, if something’s wrong, just say it. Don’t vanish.”
She said nothing. He scanned her face.
“Did something happen?” he asked.
She wanted to lie. But her silence was already too loud.
“I saw someone,” she said. “Someone from before.”
His eyes sharpened. “Before us?”
“Yes. Before everything. He’s part of the reason I started writing again.”
“You’re writing again?” Mark asked, as if that was the bigger news.
She nodded. “Last night.”
He studied her, something unreadable in his expression. “Okay. Well. I’m glad. I think.”
She didn’t respond. Not with her voice, anyway.
Theo held his phone, thumb hovering over Lena’s contact. The unsent message stared back at him:
> I shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye either.
But he deleted it. Again.
He wasn’t sure what Lena wanted. He wasn’t sure what he wanted. Closure? Or a second chance?
Sometimes they looked the same.
---
Back at Lena’s – Later
Mark left after lunch, with a kiss that didn’t quite land. The silence returned.
Lena wandered into her bookshelf, running her hand across the spines. Old notebooks, college anthologies, forgotten journals. And then—stuffed between two hardcovers—she found it.
A folded letter. Faded. Torn along the edge.
Her name. In Theo’s handwriting.
She unfolded it with trembling fingers.
> Lena,
I don’t know if I’ll get the timing right. I never do. But if you feel it—anything at all—don’t run. Just say something. I’ll be waiting.
—T
She didn’t remember receiving it.
Or maybe she’d refused to.
She sat down hard, the letter shaking in her hands. She thought about what she’d almost done yesterday. What she’d almost said.
Then she picked up her phone.
She didn’t rewrite the message this time. She just typed:
> “Can we talk?”
And she hit send.
- Writer
