She was leaving.
I had let myself believe we were building something. The way she fit into the diner. The way she laughed at my dumb jokes. The way she made the coffee order board look like it belonged in a magazine. The way she stood beside me like we’d never stopped being us.
I thought we were real.
Stupid. I should’ve known better. People like her don’t stay. Not when the world keeps knocking with shiny offers and open doors. She had a life before this place. Before me. And now it was calling her back.
I wanted to be happy for her. I wanted to mean what I said.
But it felt like my ribs were splintering from the inside out.
She smiled back. It stopped short. “Thanks.”
I waited a beat. If I asked, the answer would land, and I would have to carry it. “Are you thinking of taking it?”
“I don’t know.” She let the silence stretch. “I like what I’m doing here. I like being near my dad. I like the quiet. The aggressive seagulls. And this place.”
My chest tightened. The words hovered behind my teeth.
Stay.
I wanted to say it. I wanted to ask her to choose this life, this town, this diner. I wanted her to choose me.
But how could I be the person who closed a door she had spent years trying to open?
She had always wanted New York. The rush of it, the ambition, the kind of life that didn't fit inside these quiet streets. This job wasn't just another offer. It was the one she had chased. The one she had sacrificed for. The kind of opportunity that didn’t come twice.
If I asked her to stay, I would be asking her to leave that behind. I would be asking her to fold herself into something smaller. I would be the reason she said no to everything she once said yes to.
That didn’t feel like love.
Love was supposed to make space. It was supposed to want the other person whole and untamed. It wasn’t meant to trap. It wasn’t meant to keep someone only because you were afraid of losing them.
So I let the word fall apart in my mouth.
Stay.
I never said it. I gave her the thing I didn’t want to give. A way out.
Because if I really loved her, I had to let her go. Even if it felt like tearing something out of my chest.
“You don’t have to stay for me,” I said. The words scraped. “I don’t want to be the reason you give up something you worked your whole life for.”
“And what if it’s not giving it up?” she said, placing her bag on a stool. “What if it’s choosing something different?”
I looked down at the counter. A chip in the laminate caught my eye. It looked like a state I had never visited and never planned to. “If you stayed and ended up resenting me, I’d never forgive myself.”
She sighed. “Maybe I wouldn’t go,” she said. “But maybe I just want someone to ask me to stay.”
Hope surged through me and scared me at the same time. It felt bright and dangerous, like touching something hot andpretending it wouldn’t burn. I wanted to grab it. I wanted to grab her and say stay and mean it.
But love was not about holding on at all costs. It was about knowing when to step back. If she stayed because of me and later hated the choice, I would be the one she blamed. How could I live with that?
“You know what,” I said. “Go to New York. Have a great life.”
She blinked.
“This thing between us,” I said. Heat burned my throat. “It was fake, right. Just for show.”
