The sky wore a pale grey that hovered between day and night, clouds moving like whispers over rooftops, and the wind brushing softly against quiet streets that remembered too much.
She stepped out of the small café, hands wrapped around a warm paper cup, not because she loved the taste but because it reminded her of comfort, of holding something steady when everything else felt unsure.
Leaves skittered across the pavement, caught in little gusts that seemed to chase forgotten stories, and the chime of a bicycle echoed in the distance, fading as quickly as it came.
That's when she saw him.
He was standing beneath the flickering streetlamp, just across the road, shadows resting along his shoulders like they had followed him all this time. The gold light blinked once before settling, casting a faint glow that outlined him in a way that almost hurt.
He hadn't seen her yet, but she had already forgotten how to breathe.
When he turned, their eyes met, not suddenly, not dramatically, just quietly, like the way memories return in the middle of an ordinary moment.
He looked like someone she used to know, someone she still remembered without trying, but time had written a few new lines on his face and maybe a few more behind his eyes.
Neither of them moved, as if the town had fallen into silence just for this. No cars, no voices, only the hush of wind and that gentle hum of a place holding its breath.
Then came the question, soft and fragile like it didn't want to break anything.
"Are you with someone?"
She didn't look away, didn't search for words, she simply nodded, and for a moment the world felt too still, like the pause between heartbeats when you know something just changed.
He didn't speak again. He didn't ask why or how or when.
He simply looked at her the way people look at places they once called home, places they still love but cannot return to.
She wanted to say something, maybe that she had waited longer than she should have, maybe that no one ever really replaced him, but the moment was already slipping away, carried by the wind and the weight of unspoken things.
He turned.
His steps were slow but certain, no anger, no bitterness, only that quiet kind of goodbye that doesn't need words to be felt.
She stood still, listening to the sound of him walking away, until even that was gone.
The sky remained grey. The streetlamp still flickered.
But something in her had changed.
And even the coffee in her hand had lost its warmth.
"Sometimes the goodbye doesn't come when they leave. Sometimes it comes when they return, and you realise you are no longer theirs."