The train zoomed by, and I caught a glimpse of his face across the platform—wavy hair, glasses, rosy cheeks.
Even if it was for a split second, I recognized that face.
The face I long for. The one I see in my dreams, now just a few feet away. His hair was longer, a beard lining his jaw—he looked older.
But it was still the face I had longed for, the face I dream of. On nights when I would wake up covered in tears, this was the face I thought of. I stared intensely to make sure he wasn’t just a figment of my imagination. When the train finally disappeared, I saw him clearly.
He stood there in a denim jacket and khaki pants, holding a luggage.
It took him more than five seconds before he nodded at me. He mouthed, hi.
“Hi,” I whispered.
It was this word that made me fall in love with him ten years ago.
I was working long hours at the café, finally getting off around midnight.
The streets were dark, and a cold breeze wrapped around me.
I must have been dehydrated because I felt myself falling backward, bracing for the hard ground.
But the ground wasn’t as hard as I remembered.
Because he caught me. He held me with his hands, and I was anchored. “Hi,” he said with a smile. His breath smelled like peppermint, reminding me of the last latte I brewed. Peppermint latte.
He told me he’d just graduated from the firefighter academy that month. He saw me falling and instinctively rushed to catch me.
A few months later, I asked him if he would always catch me if I fell.
“Absolutely,” he said, with the gentlest look in his eyes. I saw my reflection in his pupils, surrounded by rings of hazel.
I still remember the person I was when I was with him. Carefree. Full. At peace. But she had to change. She had to grow up.
If anyone asked me if he was my true love, I could say he was. He was... once my happily ever after.
But then, he disappeared.
After five years together, and a plan to move in together, he disappeared.
I saw the signs, but I ignored them: the late replies, the missed calls, the long weekend trips out of town.
Then he was gone. All I received was a text saying he couldn’t do it anymore.
He was gone. The door to my past shut, leaving the shadows of loneliness behind.
I still wondered from time to time—was it my fault?
Was I too clingy?
Was it wrong to tell him I wanted to move in together?
And get married?
Was it wrong to want a happily ever after?
I didn’t need flames and passion. I just wanted to come home to someone waiting for me. I wanted to fall asleep in his arms on the couch, with the TV playing our favorite show. I wanted Saturday evenings spent walking our dog in the neighborhood, not out at bars. I was content with the mundane things, as long as they were spent with him.
I didn’t need a wedding. Or an anniversary. It just had to be him. He was all I wanted.
Yet, standing at the other end of the train platform, I felt that we were universes apart.
Why?
Why did you fall out of love?
Why did you leave the way you did?
Was I not good enough?
I started walking toward the exit, rushing down the escalator. My heart pounded in my chest. I had played this scenario in my head so many times—what I would say if we met again.
Would I get my answers? Would I break down in tears? Or would I even be able to speak at all?
The truth was, maybe it was best if we never met again.
It was best if we never met again.
I stopped.
I turned and started walking back, against the direction of the escalator.
Up the escalator.
Along the yellow line of the platform.
The next train arrived. The doors opened, and I stepped inside.
I turned around.
The doors closed.
And there he was, catching his breath, his hair slightly disheveled. He held his glasses in his left hand.
We were a few feet apart, separated by the glass door. His eyes—the ones I remembered—black pupils surrounded by hazel irises.
He looked at me, sorrow and remorse in his gaze.
Sorry, he mouthed.
I watched him. I watched as he became smaller and smaller, fading into the background. I watched until I could no longer see him—until the face I once longed for disappeared from sight.
And then, it was just my own reflection in the glass door. I smiled. My face mixed with the landscape—the forest—and then opened into the ocean. Crystal blue, sparkling. Clear beyond the horizon.