The shades of gray skies cast shadows on our small town, and as much as I hated the lifeless state it was in, there was still something beautiful in death, just like there was something beautiful in life.
Seasons always reminded me of rebirth, of a new chance—a new opportunity to make things better. These past couple of months, I had to remind myself several times that endings were not forever.
Perhaps it was just my wishful thinking that death wasn’t the end—it was just a new beginning. Maybe it was my way of coping with things.
But looking at the melting snow, people rushing to school and to their jobs, something shifted inside of me. Something profound, and it didn’t leave me feeling helpless this time.
“I’m going to be here at three again,” Noah started, gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.
I looked at his face, his handsome profile—the sharp jawline, those long, dark lashes I was always jealous of. It wasn’t fair that a man had such eyelashes. My eyes moved to his ruffled, dark hair, to that little scar on his neck he got when he jumped from the swing that once used to hang on the weeping willow behind our houses.
He changed, yet he also stayed the same. Once upon a time, he used to be just the boy I had the biggest crush on. Somewhere in between then and now, he became a young man I fell in love with.
My other friends never understood what I saw in him, thinking that it was only these physical aspects of his that pulled me into his orbit, but Noah was so much more than what the eye saw.
The Noah I loved cried every single time a pet died in a movie or a television show. The Noah I grew up with held me in his arms when I had a panic attack, because I had no idea what I was doing.
He was the kind of guy you could call at three in the morning, and he would come to you—no questions asked.
My Noah was also an asshole, but only if you deserved it. He hated bullies, hated people shitting all over other people, and no matter what, he still remembered every little thing about those he loved.
Because of all those things, because I knew that what he said that night was not because he hated me, I had to let him go. I had to make him see that what he was doing here was not going to propel us back in time, so that we never fell apart.
I wished I had a time machine. I wished I could go back and change the things I so desperately wanted to change, but I couldn’t. Life went on, just like seasons. It moved, whether we wanted it to or not. Sometimes life could be a mess.
Sometimes it could throw you a curveball, making you realize that none of those things you used to worry about mattered anymore.
“Noah,” I croaked, my throat dry while nerves shook my hands. I pressed them between my legs, calming my breathing just enough to tell him what I needed to. What I should’ve done a week ago.
I never should’ve sat down in his car. I never should’ve accepted these rides. It wasn’t as if I didn’t have my own car, but something about being with him, even if it was only like this, made me feel better.
It made me feel less alone.
He turned slowly, those blue, blue eyes sparkling with untold emotions, with promises, memories, and unshed tears. There was so much regret there, so much pain, and I was the reason. I never meant to torture him like this.
I never meant for us to turn into this. He needed to know that I forgave him, but that sometimes, just sometimes, forgiveness and love were not enough to move forward.
Sometimes you had to cut the thread connecting you to the other person because you had to save both them and you.
“This can’t go on, Noah.”
His grip on the steering wheel increased as soon as the words left my mouth. His right eye got that familiar twitch that was only there when he couldn’t, or he didn’t, want to say things out loud.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“This.” I pointed at the two of us. “You and me. We can’t go on like this.” I took a deep breath, letting it expand my chest. “You can’t keep driving me back and forth.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I laughed. “Because I don’t want you to. I-I,” I stammered. “I can’t keep seeing you like this. I hate that you’re only here because you feel guilty.”
“What’s wrong with me feeling guilty, Sophie?” He turned toward me, unclasping his seat belt. “What’s wrong with me wanting you back, huh? Of course I feel guilty.”
“But you don’t have to.”
“But I do!” he bellowed, slamming his hand on the dashboard. “Goddammit, I do need to feel guilty. If it wasn’t for me and my stupid fucking jealousy, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now. You wouldn’t be sitting there, looking like you would rather go through fire than be here with me. I miss how we used to be, Soph. I miss seeing you smile. I miss us going through Spotify, finding new songs. I miss you telling me about all the things that happened to you during the day. I went to that weeping willow five times in the last month, only you were never there. Why?”
“Because I knew you might be.” Because it hurt too much, seeing him at all those places we used to visit together.
