Didn’t say a word.
Didn’t trust myself to.
Every red light felt longer than usual. Every turn slower. I wasn’t trying to make conversation; I was just trying to make the drive last.
She stared out the window most of the way, her reflection flickering in the glass, tired but peaceful. And I wanted to ask her so many things.
What happens now? Are we done? Do you hate me? Are you leaving tonight?
But I didn’t.
Because if she said it, if she saidthis is it, I didn’t know if I’d be able to drive the rest of the way home.
So I said nothing.
And she didn’t either.
We just let the quiet sit between us, pretending it wasn’t goodbye yet.
By the time we reached the parking lot, the sun was low. The sky was painted orange, gold, pink, the kind of light that makes everything look softer, even endings.
I parked, turned off the engine, and looked over at her.
She unbuckled her seatbelt slowly, careful with her arm. Then she smiled, small and grateful. “Thank you.”
Two words.
Simple.
And they still managed to hurt.
Everything fucking hurts now.
I nodded once. “Anytime.”
She got out; the door shut behind her, but she didn’t move. Just stood, eyes fixed on something across the garage.
I followed her gaze and saw it too.
The bike.
Leaning in the corner, coated in a thin film of dust, tucked away beside three cars that hadn’t moved in weeks. The last piece of the old me, the one who used to chase adrenaline just to feel something.
Her head tilted, the kind of curious tilt that always made her look younger, softer. She pointed.
“You ride?”
Her voice was quiet, almost unsure, but it carried in the echo of the garage, anyway.
I glanced at the bike again and shrugged. “Used to.”
She turned her head to me, eyes narrowing slightly as if she were reading me the way she always did, slowly, carefully, until she found something beneath the surface.
“You don’t anymore?”
Something in the way she said it—gentle, almost teasing—made the back of my throat tighten.
I wanted to tell her the truth. That I stopped riding the day everything started to feel heavy again. That I didn’t trust myself not to crash when my head went too dark. That I kept it because it was the last thing that ever made me feel free.
