The next few days felt like a blur.
I didn't eat much. I barely slept. The apartment felt too quiet, too cold, like it had forgotten what laughter sounded like. Like it had forgotten him.
I cried—still. Not loud like before, just quiet tears that slipped out in the middle of the night or while I stood by the window doing nothing.
Talia stayed with me. She never left my side. She cooked, she cleaned, she even played my favorite songs just to get a smile out of me.
But smiling felt impossible.
I didn't want to sit around and feel the pain, so I picked up my sketchbook again.
My hands were slow at first, shaking a little, but soon the lines started forming—shapes, shadows, faces. I let everything pour onto the paper. I drew until my fingers hurt.
I didn't draw Rowan's face. But somehow, he was in every sketch. In every look, every line, every shadow.
Art became the only thing that made the silence easier to bear.
One morning, as I was adding color to a piece, Talia sat beside me on the floor and said, "You're still amazing, you know that?"
I didn't answer. I just kept shading the corner of the page.
She placed a hand on my knee. "I've been looking around. There's a small design firm downtown. They need a junior illustrator. I know someone there—I could get you an interview."
I looked at her, eyes tired.
"You don't have to," I said.
"I want to," she replied. "You need a fresh start. And you're too talented to stay stuck here in this mess."
I nodded slowly.
A fresh start. That sounded… peaceful.
Even if my heart was still breaking, maybe moving forward—even a little—was the only way I'd survive this.
The days started to blur together, but not in a painful way anymore.
It wasn't easy. My chest still ached sometimes. Some mornings, I'd wake up and reach for my phone, half-expecting a message from him. Other days, I'd remember what he said—"You're not my type." That was enough to shut the hope down.
But I didn't let myself drown. I picked up my pieces.
I applied for new jobs—nothing fancy, just enough to get by. A small design studio called back, and after one interview, they hired me as a junior layout assistant. It wasn't my dream role, but it kept me busy.....distracted too.
And then there was Talia.
She became my lifeline without ever trying too hard. Every day after work, she'd show up at my apartment like she had a key to my heart. Sometimes she brought takeout, sometimes her dog—Waffles, and sometimes just bad jokes and a bottle of wine.
"Smile therapy," she called it. "Side effects include random giggling and forgetting assholes with cold hearts."
We binge-watched dramas, played video games, and even cooked—once, because we nearly set the kitchen on fire. 😭😂
For a while, it felt like I was okay.
Not fully, but okay enough to laugh without guilt.
One evening, we were walking back from the supermarket, bags in hand, when I caught a glimpse of something across the street.
A car. Not just any car—his car.
Black. Tinted windows. Sleek as ever. Parked just far enough to not be obvious, but close enough for me to notice.
I froze.
"What's wrong?" Talia asked.
I stared for a second, then shook my head. "Nothing. Just thought I saw something."
When I looked back, the car was gone.
---
It happened again a few days later.
I was at a coffee shop, chatting with an old classmate who worked nearby. As I stepped out, I swore I saw someone in a hoodie across the street duck behind a building.
My heart skipped.
It couldn't be.
Right?
Nights came quietly. I sometimes stood by the window, staring out at the streets below. And once or twice… I thought I saw a car parked for a few minutes, engine humming. No one got out. No one knocked.
It just sat there. Then disappeared.
I never told Talia.
Part of me wondered if I was imagining it—if my heart wanted closure so badly it invented shadows. This moving on shit seemed harder than I had imagined I guess.
---
It was raining that night, light and steady, the kind that made everything feel softer. Talia and I were sitting cross-legged on my living room floor, a bowl of popcorn between us and a card game we both barely understood spread out in front.
"I swear," she said, squinting at her hand, "you're making up rules."
"No," I laughed, "you're just bad at Uno."
We were halfway into our third fake tournament when the doorbell rang.
We both paused.
I glanced at the clock. 9:47 p.m.
"Expecting someone?" Talia asked, already reaching for her phone.
I shook my head and stood up slowly. "Nope."
I blinked. "It's past nine…"
"Maybe it's the universe delivering your prize for cheating at Uno."
I rolled my eyes, got up, and walked to the door.
When I opened it, no one was there.
Just the dim, humming hallway. The soft buzz of the elevator a few doors down.
Then I noticed it.
Right beside the elevator doors, resting against the wall—a bouquet of flowers.
I stepped forward slowly, drawn to it.
Who would leave a flower inside the building like this?
Then I saw the note.
Damp. Folded around the stem. The ink had run, but part of it still showed:
To, J-U...
That was all I could read.
The rest was lost—blotted and blurred by water that had no business being inside this building. The flower had clearly been out in the rain before someone brought it here.
Before someone left it… for me.
My stomach twisted. I glanced down the hallway.
Empty. No one was there.
Just that lingering feeling again—that someone had been watching. That he had been watching.
I picked up the flower gently and walked back to the apartment.
Talia raised an eyebrow when she saw my face. "What is it?"
I showed her the flowers, said nothing.
She frowned. "That's… weird."
Yeah.
Weird.
But my chest felt tight again.
Because I knew exactly who it was from.
And I didn't know what scared me more—the fact that he was still watching…
Or the fact that a part of me wanted him to.
Talia insisted that I confronted him and at least know if it was him.
But I really didn't want that. My heart was still stinging from everything he did and I wanted to spare myself anymore trouble.