"I just want to stay focused this week," I said lamely, trying to sound bored of this conversation. "End of the month stuff, you know."
My friends looked at each other with tired expressions, as if they had already expected that I was going to avoid answering them truthfully, and I almost felt guilty for acting so erratically without giving them any explanation.
"The end of the month was last Wednesday," Claudette pointed out, "which you handled flawlessly, as always. This is about him."
I didn't answer, which was answer enough.
"Lily," Marlin's voice softened, leaning in closer. "You can't avoid him forever. This building only has so many floors, and you both work here. At some point, you're going to turn a corner, and he'll be there, and all this running will have been for nothing."
She placed her hand over mine, her expression turning thoughtful. "You know what my grandmother used to say? 'The things we run from are the things that find us in the dark.' The longer you avoid this confrontation, the more power you give it over you."
"She's right," Claudette added. "I've seen you build this perfect, controlled life, Lily. Everything in its place, everyemotion safely contained. But that's not really living, it's just existing. Sometimes the things that hurt us most are also the things that can finally set us free, only if we're brave enough to face them."
"I know that," I snapped, immediately regretting my tone. They were just concerned. "Sorry. I just... I needed some time to prepare myself."
"For what?" Claudette asked gently. "What happened between you two that was so terrible you can't even be in the same room with him now? We've been patient with you because we know you don't like to share many details about your personal life, but I think it's time for an intervention."
The question hung in the air, heavy with all the things I'd never told them. All the things I couldn't bring myself to say out loud, even now.
I knew the easiest thing to do was to tell them exactly what happened, to see their expressions change from understanding to frustration, maybe horror. But part of me didn't want to be seen with pity. That's why I'd distanced myself from everyone from my past, so I could be reborn and be someone else, to be surrounded by people who wouldn't see me as that girl who lost everything in a span of five years.
There are certain moments in life that stay with you forever. They don’t just become memories; they change you. They alter the way you think, the way you feel, the way you move through the world. What happened with Kyle was one of those moments for me. It left an imprint so deep that I could no longer see life the same way I had before.
"It's complicated," I finally said.
"Then, uncomplicate it," Marlin suggested. "He's just a guy you knew in high school. Ancient history, as you said, right?"
Ancient history that still felt painfully current whenever Ithought about it. Especially since the consequences still linger to this day.
"It's been easy to avoid him so far; I don’t have any issues continuing to do it," I said, deflecting. "He's new. He's been focused on training and meeting his team. Getting settled."
"And next week?" Claudette pressed. "When he starts exploring the building more? When his role requires him to interact with other departments, maybe even accounting?"
The anxiety that had been simmering in my chest all week threatened to boil over. Claudette was right, of course. The first week had been a grace period of sorts. New employees were typically sequestered with their immediate teams, learning systems, and protocols. But soon, Kyle would be fully integrated into the company. Our paths would inevitably cross.
"I'll figure it out," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
"Or," Marlin suggested, "you could just talk to him. Get it over with. What's the worst that could happen?"
I could think of a dozen worst-case scenarios without even trying. Him bringing up the past I'd worked hard to forget. Him revealing to me something about that day that even now I wouldn't be able to bear. Him looking at me with the same hurt eyes I'd seen last time I'd watched him walk away.
But the true worst case? That seeing him would force me to confront the part of myself I'd buried along with our history, the part that still wondered what if. The part that still, after all this time, ached for answers.
"I'm not ready," I admitted. "Maybe I will never be."
Marlin sighed. "You know ‘ready' is just another word for 'comfortable,' and growth never happens in comfort zones. Running from difficult conversations just costs more than just having them and being done with it. Avoidance feels safe, Lily,but it’s just an illusion. The energy it takes to keep running, it hollows you out over time."
"That's not the Lily Danault I know," Claudette said firmly. "You face problems head-on. You make plans. You execute them flawlessly. You don't hide."
But that was exactly what I'd been doing for the past decade—hiding from the memory of what happened, from the guilt that sometimes still kept me awake at night, from the what-ifs that haunted me.
Maybe the part of me that tried to be strong and pretend I was in control was just a wall that kept me from revealing my greatest fears. I'd spent years building these defenses meticulously, brick by brick, until I could no longer see over them, but neither could anyone else see in.
It's strange how the body remembers trauma long after the mind tries to forget. The tightness in my chest whenever I hear his name. The sudden dryness in my throat. The way my hands tremble slightly, betraying my carefully cultivated composure. We think we've moved on until something triggers us, and suddenly we're back there again, feeling everything just as intensely as before. The body keeps the score when the mind desperately wants to wipe the slate clean.
"Maybe I should just act like I don't remember him," I suggested, grasping at straws now. "Pretend we've never met."
Marlin actually laughed at that. "After the way you reacted when you saw his picture? After a week of dodging him like he carries the plague? I don't think you could pull that off if your life depended on it."
