Page 6 of We Shouldn’t Do This Again

The Maldives was where I met Bárbara, and where I knew I had found the love of my life—the kind that would last forever. In my mind, the memories come flooding back in vivid detail, filling me with bittersweet tenderness. I remember how Bárbara and I would walk along the beach at sunset, hands intertwined and hearts full of those emotions that took the form of salty kisses. Her eyes shone with the same intensity as the sea at dusk, and her caresses tasted of the future and of home. We laughed at the silliest things, hugged under the palm trees, and dreamed of a life together that seemed eternal. That trip was bathed in fire, a fire that burned my skin and left a mark on my soul. But it all faded with time, like the waves that erase footprints in the sand. The divorce swept away all that magic we created together, and since then I’ve built walls around my heart so I won’t suffer again, even though deep down I long to feel that deep connection again that only she gave me.

“You’ll come, won’t you?” Miriam asks, hope in her voice, as if she knew I needed a nudge.

I look at her through the screen, feeling the weight of the decision, but also the strength of her excitement. My father seems so happy… so excited, that any other answer would be impossible and cruel.

“Of course I’ll come,” I say with a smile that comes from the bottom of my heart. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Your happiness is mine too. I’ll just have to ask for some help and make sure everything is well organized.”

Dad smiles as if he’d just won the lottery jackpot.

“I knew you’d say yes.”

“I’d never miss your wedding, Dad.”

I let out a small laugh even though, deep down, the past stirs like dry leaves in the breeze. Because I can’t help but think of Bárbara, and how the magic of the Maldives led us to give free rein to a love story that wasn’t “forever.”

CHAPTER 3

THE DECISION

Barbara

London is a city that wakes up long before the light bathes the streets. No matter the rain or the cold, it feels like a heart that never stops beating. When I run along the paths of Hyde Park, I feel that energy filling me up, my senses tuning in within seconds, and my heart beating to the rhythm of everything around me.

I wasn’t one for exercising in the mornings; I was the type who stayed in bed enjoying the warmth of the sheets. Or those sweet moments, filled with passion and love, that only happen when you’re in good company. However, it was Ingrid who showed me the importance of routines, consistency, and self-control when you feel lost.

Ingrid runs beside me, setting a steady pace. I, on the other hand, feel the heat building little by little under my sweatshirt, the rapid beat of my heart pounding in my temples, and that slight burning sensation in my leg muscles. She shoots me a sidelong glance and a mischievous smile that lights up her face.

“You’re getting out of shape, honey.”

I huff heavily, but I can’t help giving it right back to her by breaking into a sprint, forcing her to keep up with me. Though I don’t last long.

“It’s just that you’re used to running like you’re training for the Olympics,” I add between gasps, coming to a sudden stop.

“That’s because I do,” she replies matter-of-factly, moving right up beside me and keeping up the jog. “Even though no one’s invited me yet.”

I look at her with resignation and shake my head in amusement before continuing on through the trees.

“You’re impossible, really.”

“But here you are, running with me every morning,” she adds, her voice light, almost playful. “And don’t tell me there’s anything better than this.”

“Of course there is, and don’t make me say it out loud,” I reply, and I hear a brief laugh escape her lips, a sound that blends perfectly with the rustling of the leaves as they lift off the ground with each of our strides.

We gradually slow our pace until we end up walking along one of the park’s main paths. At this hour, Hyde Park is full of runners, cyclists, dog walkers, and people simply enjoying the sun breaking through the gray clouds before heading to work. We stop in front of a small coffee stand where aromatic steam rises in spirals, making my mouth water.

“Two black coffees, please, nice and hot,” Ingrid asks with that distinct Swedish accent in her voice.

We sit down on a nearby bench. The wood still holds the cold and frost of the night, but the sun filtering through the tree branches warms the skin on our arms and legs in a pleasant, comforting way. I take the first sip of coffee and close my eyes for a second, letting the strong, bitter flavor wash over me.

“I don’t know how they can drink more tea than coffee in this city,” I murmur before taking another sip. “This is the only thing keeping me going.”

Ingrid turns toward me on the bench and remarks with a crooked smile on her lips, “I thought it was pride.”

“That’s always the case,” I admit, letting out a soft laugh. “But coffee helps a lot.”

The silence that settles between us is comfortable and relaxed, the kind that only exists when you’re with someone you don’t need to fill every second with unnecessary words. I look around and focus on a group of ducks gliding slowly across the lake, on two boys chasing a red ball through the grass while their mother tries, without much success, to keep them from straying too far from the path. Everything seems calm and orderly, but deep in my heart, something has been spinning nonstop for several days.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do yet?”