Sometimes I think memories have a smell. It may smell like the trace of rain on old wood, or coffee in the morning.
I smelled that memory when I saw Eli again at my brother's house the next evening. He was sitting in the living room with my brother, laughing over some joke I didn't hear. For a second, it almost looked normal. Yeah, almost.
"Lia," my brother said when he saw me. "You remember Eli's mom's charity event next week? He needs your RSVP."
I nodded, pretending I hadn't been watching Eli's fingers are tapping gainst his knee. It was the same nervous habit he had when he didn't want to say something.
"Yeah. Sure."
Eli glanced at me briefly, then back to my brother. "Don't pressure her. She's got enough on her plate."
Something in his tone made me look up. It was soft, protective and utterly out of place. Like he forgot there weren't us anymore.
My brother laughed. "You sound like you still know her."
Eli's jaw tightened. "Those are old habits." I felt that. Deep in the place I tried to forget existed.
The dinner was quiet.
My brother kept the conversation light, filling the silence between fork fulls of pasta. But every time Eli spoke, my chest felt heavier, like each word was dragging old memories back to the surface.
"How's Daniel?" my brother asked suddenly.
I blinked. "He's fine."
"Still busy?"
I nodded. "Always."
Eli didn't say anything, but his hands was stilled. For a man who'd once memorized the smallest details about me like how I stirred my coffee counterclockwise, how I hated tulips because they felt sad — the silence was cruel.
When dinner ended, my brother excused himself to take a call. I stood up and ready to leave too, but Eli spoke first.
"Lia."
I turned. "What?"
"Can we talk?"
"About what?"
He hesitated. "About why you left."
My throat tightened. "That's not something you get to ask anymore."
"I think it is," he said quietly. "Because you left, and I never got the chance to explain."
I almost laughed bitterly. "Explain what? That you were engaged while you were telling me you loved me?"
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Eli's eyes widened, the shock was raw and unguarded. "You knew?"
My stomach turned. "So it's true."
He took a step closer.
"Don't," I said, stepping back. "Don't act like I ran away without a reason. I was saving myself."
His expression faltered, something was breaking in his voice. "You think I chose her?"
"Didn't you?"
He didn't answer. And I learned silence can sound exactly like guilt.
I shook my head. A small, humorless smile tugged at my lips. "You could've told me, Eli. You could've said anything. But instead, I had to hear it from my brother, that you were promised to someone else. That you were never mine."
"I was yours," he said, voice breaking. "Every part of me was yours, Lia. You just didn't stay long enough to see it."
Something inside me cracked. The years I'd spent building walls and the quiet anger I used to survive crumbled
"I stayed as long as I could," I whispered. "Until it hurt to breathe."
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then my brother's voice came from the hallway, calling Eli back. He left without another word, and I stood there, shaking, trying to remember how to breathe again.
That night, I sat on my bedroom floor, still in the same clothes, staring at the engagement ring Daniel gave me.
It was beautiful — a diamond set on a thin band, perfect and heavy on my finger. Like those rings that looked good in pictures. But when I looked at it now, it didn't feel like a promise.
It felt like a cage.
Because now that I knew the truth or what I thought was the truth, it all made sense.
Eli didn't fight for me because he couldn't.
He didn't stop me because someone else was already standing beside him.
And the cruelest part? He never even told me why.
The next morning, my brother texted me.
"He didn't mean for you to find out that way. But if you knew everything, Lia… maybe you wouldn't hate him so much."
I stared at the message for a long time, my heart thudding in my chest.
Maybe, but maybe knowing would've broken me even more.
That night, I opened my window and let the cold air in, almost like the night I left five years ago.
Eli once said love isn't about choosing the person who makes you feel safe. It's about choosing the one who makes you stay, even when it's hard.
I guess we failed both ways.