The Unfinished Question
798 Words
That evening, Ryan arrived at my apartment carrying a bag of food.
"You didn't cook," he said the moment I opened the door. I smiled. He lifted the bag.
"I brought peace offerings."
"For what?"
"For the fact that I know you probably forgot to eat."
I rolled my eyes.
"You make me sound helpless."
"No."
He walked inside.
"I make you sound like someone who gets lost inside her own thoughts."
The accuracy of his words made me quiet. Ryan noticed immediately. He always did.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
I sighed softly. He gave me a look.
"Why do you always know?"
"Because I pay attention."
That was Ryan. He paid attention to everything. The way I took my coffee. The songs I played when I was sad. The way I became quiet when something bothered me. He knew me.
Yet standing there, watching him arrange dinner on my small kitchen table, I felt a painful truth. Knowing someone was not the same as understanding everything inside them.
"Clara."
I looked up.
"Yeah?"
"Are you happy?"
The question came again. Different day. Different person. Same question. My heart tightened.
"Why does everyone keep asking me that?"
"Everyone?"
I froze. I hadn't meant to say it. Ryan noticed.
"Who else asked?"
"No one."
He looked at me carefully. I hated that he could see through me.
"I'm just stressed."
He nodded slowly.
"About the wedding?"
"About everything."
He sat beside me.
"Talk to me."
I wanted to. I truly wanted to. But how could I explain something I barely understood myself How could I tell the man I loved that seeing someone from my past had reminded me of a version of myself I had forgotten? A version of myself who had not been afraid. A version of myself who believed anything was possible.
"I'm scared we'll spend our whole lives struggling." The words finally came out. Ryan looked down. Not angry. Just hurt.
"I thought you knew who I was when you chose me."
"I do."
"Then what changed?"
I looked away. "Nothing had changed."
"And everything had."
"I don't know."
That answer hurt him more than anger would have. Ryan stood quietly.
"I should go."
"Ryan."
He stopped at the door.
"I don't want you to marry me because you've already planned everything."
"I don't."
"I don't want to be the safe choice."
The words cut deeply.
Because I had never thought of him that way.
Had I?
"I love you."
He nodded.
"I know."
"But?"
"But sometimes love isn't the only thing people are afraid of losing."
After he left, I stood alone in my apartment for a long time. The silence felt heavier than before.
Two days passed. I did not see Adrian. I did not call him. I did not search for him. I told myself that meant I was doing the right thing.
Then, on Friday evening, while leaving work, I saw him again. Not inside a café. Not in a bookstore.
This time, he was standing beside a black luxury car outside the building. At first, I almost walked past him. Then he looked up. Our eyes met. The surprise on his face matched mine.
Again.
No plans.
No arrangement.
Just another impossible moment.
"You work here?" I asked.
He looked at the building behind me.
"No."
"Then what are you doing here?"
For the first time, he seemed uncomfortable.
"I was dropping someone off."
I glanced at the car. It was expensive. The kind of car people noticed. The kind of car that made assumptions about the person standing beside it.
"You have changed a lot," I said.
He smiled faintly.
"Is that good or bad?"
"I haven't decided."
He laughed softly. The sound brought back a memory I didn't expect. A rainy afternoon. A younger Adrian making me laugh when I was upset. For a moment, the years disappeared. Then reality returned. I was engaged. He was someone from my past. And yet, there we stood. Two people who kept finding each other without trying.
"I should go," I said.
He nodded.
"Of course."
I turned away. Then stopped. I don't know why. Maybe curiosity. Maybe unfinished questions. Maybe because part of me was tired of pretending I felt nothing.
"Adrian."
He looked at me.
"Why did you really leave?"
The question had followed me for ten years. This time, I wanted an answer. His expression changed. The confidence disappeared. For a moment, he looked like the boy who had left.
"I thought leaving was the only way to become someone you would be proud of."
I stared at him. Before I could ask what he meant, he stepped back.
"I'll see you around, Clara."
And then he got into the car. Leaving me with more questions than answers again.
- Writer
