In the Space Between Us

Chapter 5: Friends, Yet Not

Saturday morning smelled of stale sweat and rubber.

The squeak of sneakers on polished hardwood echoed through the community center gym, a piercing sound that bounced off the high metal rafters. Ethan Reyes wasn't a basketball player—his hands were made for drafting pencils and precision scales, not dribbling—but today, he was playing with a ferocity that bordered on violent.

He drove toward the hoop, ignoring the burning in his lungs, and launched the ball. It hit the backboard with a deafening thwack, bounced off the rim, and careened into the bleachers.

“Brick,” Jasper called out from the three-point line. He was leaning against the wall, spinning a ball on his finger with annoying ease. “That wasn’t even a brick. That was a whole construction site. You’re building a condo with these misses.”

Ethan bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air. “Shut up, Jap.”

“I’m just saying,” Jasper said, walking over and retrieving the ball. “Usually you play like you’re solving a math equation. Calculated. Boring. Today? You’re playing like you’re trying to murder the hoop.”

Ethan wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his jersey. He walked over to the bench and grabbed his water bottle, squeezing a stream of lukewarm liquid into his mouth.

“I’m fine,” Ethan muttered.

“You’re not fine. You’re ‘Ethan Fine,’ which means you’re approximately two steps away from an existential crisis.” Jasper sat down on the bench next to him, dropping the ball between his feet. “Talk to me. What happened at the record store? You texted me ‘I messed up’ at 9:00 PM and then ghosted me.”

Ethan stared at the scuffed floorboards. The shame of last night was still sitting heavy in his gut, a cold stone that refused to dissolve.

“I freaked out,” Ethan admitted, his voice low.

Jasper raised an eyebrow. “Freaked out how? Did you sneeze on her? Did you accidentally confess to a crime?”

“We were listening to music. In one of those booths. It was…” Ethan struggled to find the words. “Close. It was really close. And I just… I left.”

“You left?”

“I walked out. I practically ran.”

Jasper let out a long, slow whistle. He leaned back, resting his elbows on the bleacher behind him. “Ethan, my guy. You are a architectural genius, but you are an emotional toddler.”

“I couldn’t do it, Jap,” Ethan snapped, crushing the empty plastic bottle in his hand. “It felt like… like before. Like Clara. I got close, and I panicked. If I let her in, she’s going to see the mess. She’s going to realize I’m not worth the effort.”

Jasper’s expression softened. The jokes evaporated. He reached out and gripped Ethan’s shoulder, a firm, grounding weight.

“Listen to me,” Jasper said, his voice serious. “Clara was a hurricane. She came in, wrecked the place, and left. But you’ve spent the last year rebuilding the house, man. It’s not a mess anymore. It’s just empty. And it’s going to stay empty if you keep bolting the door every time someone knocks.”

“I don’t know if I can open it,” Ethan whispered.

“You don’t have to tear the door off the hinges,” Jasper said. “ just unlock it. Mika isn’t Clara. Mika folds napkins into swans and drinks bad coffee with you. Give her a chance to be herself, not a ghost of your ex.”

Ethan looked at his friend. Jasper was usually the court jester, the guy who defused tension with a punchline. But right now, he was making an annoying amount of sense.

“I owe her an apology,” Ethan said.

“Yeah, you do,” Jasper agreed, standing up and tossing the ball at Ethan’s chest. Ethan caught it on reflex. “A big one. Groveling might be required. Flowers. Maybe a interpretive dance. I can choreograph it for you.”

Ethan cracked a small, reluctant smile. “No dancing.”

“Fine. But fix it. Because if you don’t, you’re going to be the guy alone in the gym on a Saturday morning forever. And let’s be honest, your jump shot is too ugly for that.”

Five miles away, the downtown flower market was a chaotic explosion of color and scent.

The air was thick with the smell of eucalyptus, damp earth, and expensive lilies. It was supposed to be relaxing, but for Mika Torres, it felt like a battlefield.

“I hate men,” Mika announced, aggressively shoving a bundle of baby’s breath into a bucket. “I hate them. I’m joining a convent. Do they have convents for atheists? I’ll start one.”

Chloe Santos, who was currently inspecting a very expensive orchid with critical precision, didn’t look up. “Okay. Tell me again. He ran away?”

“He fled, Chloe! Fled!” Mika threw her hands up. “One minute we were having this… moment. We were sharing headphones. It was like a movie scene. The lighting was moody, Sinatra was crooning, I could feel his breath on my face. And then—bam. He looked at me like I was a spider and bolted.”

Chloe turned, holding the orchid like a scepter. She wore oversized sunglasses even though they were indoors, and her lipstick was a shade of red that screamed don’t mess with me.

“Maybe he had to poop,” Chloe suggested.

Mika glared at her. “This is serious.”

“I am being serious. Men are simple creatures. Panic and gastrointestinal distress look remarkably similar on their faces.” Chloe set the orchid down and sighed. “Look, honey. I told you. He’s the brooding type. The ‘tortured artist.’ Those guys come with baggage. He probably has a tragic backstory involving a dead goldfish or a girl who broke his heart in middle school.”

“It felt real, though,” Mika said, her voice dropping. She leaned against the metal shelving, picking at a loose thread on her sweater. “For a second, he looked at me like… like he saw me. Not the funny girl. Not the loud girl. Just me. And then he just… shut down.”

“He’s scared,” Chloe said, adjusting her sunglasses. “Fear makes people do stupid things. Remember when I dated that guy who was afraid of commitment, so he broke up with me on my birthday because he bought me a gift that was ‘too thoughtful’ and it freaked him out?”

“Gary,” Mika nodded. “Gary was an idiot.”

“Ethan might be a Gary. Or,” Chloe pointed a manicured finger at Mika, “he might be a guy who got burned and hasn’t healed yet. The question is: do you have the patience to be the ointment?”

Mika groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I don’t want to be ointment. That sounds gross. I just want to listen to music without traumatizing anyone.”

“Then you have two choices,” Chloe said, counting on her fingers. “Option A: You let him go. You ghost him back. You go back to Noah, who is annoying but safe and definitely wants to date you.”

Mika flinched. “Noah isn’t safe. Noah is a shark in a polo shirt.”

“Option B,” Chloe continued, ignoring the interruption. “You call him out. You don’t let him get away with the silent treatment. You force him to explain himself. If he runs again, then he’s a lost cause. But if he stays… maybe there’s something there.”

Mika looked down at the buckets of flowers. They were beautiful, but they were fragile. One wrong move, one squeeze too hard, and they snapped.

She thought about Ethan’s face in the record store. The terror in his eyes hadn’t been malicious. It had been raw.

“I’m not calling him,” Mika said stubbornly. “He ran. He has to come back.”

“Fine,” Chloe shrugged. “Play the standoff game. But just so you know, I bet five bucks he texts you by Monday.”

“You’re on.”

Suddenly, Mika’s phone buzzed in her back pocket.

Both girls froze.

Mika pulled it out slowly, as if it were a bomb. She looked at the screen.

Noah Villanueva: Hey, heard you’re at the market. I’m nearby. Grab lunch? I’m buying.

Mika let out a long, frustrated groan. “It’s Noah.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Of course it is. The shark smells blood in the water.”

“I should go,” Mika said, a reckless edge entering her voice. “Ethan ran away. Noah is actually here. Maybe I should just stop trying to chase the impossible.”

Chloe snatched the phone from Mika’s hand.

“Hey!”

“You are not going to lunch with Noah just because you’re sad,” Chloe said firmly, typing something and hitting send before handing the phone back. “I told him you have diarrhea. You’re welcome.”

Mika stared at the screen. Mika: Can’t. Diarrhea. Raincheck.

“Chloe!” Mika shrieked, half-laughing, half-horrified.

“You needed a barrier,” Chloe smirked, looping her arm through Mika’s. “Now, come on. Let’s buy some overpriced peonies and get drunk on mimosas. If Ethan wants to bridge the gap, let him build the bridge. You’re done swimming.”

Mika let herself be dragged away, but she cast one last look at her phone. The screen was dark. No text from Ethan.

The space between them was quiet. But thanks to Chloe, at least she wasn't filling it with mistakes.

Ethan sat in the locker room, the sounds of the gym muffled by the concrete walls. He had showered, but he hadn't changed yet. He sat on the bench with a towel around his neck, staring at his phone.

He had typed out a message.

Mika, I’m sorry. I have baggage I haven’t unpacked yet. I didn’t mean to hurt you.

It was honest. It was vulnerable.

His thumb hovered over the send button.

He thought about Jasper’s words. You’re building a condo with these misses.

He thought about Mika’s face in the booth.

He deleted the text.

It wasn't enough. A text was easy. A text was cowardly. If he was going to fix this, he couldn't do it through a screen. He had to do it in person. He had to step into the space he was so afraid of.

He stood up, slamming his locker shut.

“Okay,” he whispered to the empty room. “Okay.”

He didn't know how he was going to do it. But for the first time in fourteen months, he knew he had to try.