We met today in a cafe. I reached awkwardly for his hand, and I struggled to say the words I have been rehearsing inside my head. But nothing comes out of my mouth, only tears streaming down my eyes.
He keeps asking me what’s wrong, what’s been bothering me for the past few days. And I looked at him, and I thought, how could he not know? And so we finished our drinks in partial silence and awkward chitchat, and we drove to the beach.
The sky was so blue, and the day was so bright, I thought I couldn’t possibly do what I planned to do. I still had a glimmer of hope that we could fix things, that we could make it right again.
Yet as I looked at the ocean and the people with happy faces on the beach, I felt the sting from a broken heart. Here I was, at a lovely beach, on a sunny day, getting my heart broken again and again. And to make things worse, a bird pooped onto my bag. My WHITE bag. Luckily it rubbed off, but I was so angry and upset and confused by then that I demanded to go home.
He told me we just grew apart. That I’ve given him too many chances. That we would still be friends. That he’d been thinking about ending it for months.
The last one hurt me the most. I never knew, never had an inkling that he felt this way. In November, he bought me a ring, to show his commitment to me. To tell me he’ll wait for me when I leave for a year.
Suddenly everything seemed like a lie. I went from being upset, to being angry. And from angry, to being disappointed.
Just like I thought, he didn’t even bother to fix things. He just said, ok, let’s end this. It was something I hated about him, the way he seem to not give a damn about anything, although I knew that deep down, he cared. I hated how he was always so rational, and never seem to cease thinking with his brain. I wanted him to stop thinking, to tell me what he felt. And still, he said, I want to end this. This is what I want.
The world turned dark. I sniffed, and I said, okay. Okay. It wasn’t what I feel, but I said it because I felt like he needed it. And because he was my friend before he was my lover, I came to accept it. I stopped crying, and I stopped whining, and calmly, we went for dinner. Our last dinner as a couple.
That was it. The end of what became ‘us’.
Except it wasn’t the end. I couldn’t give up. And I refused to give up. And it was a good thing I did. Because he wanted the same too. But as usual, his brain got in the way. He thought he was doing what was best for me, without realising that he was the best thing in my life.
I commented that I ran out of milk and cereal at home, and he said he’ll take me grocery shopping before dropping me off. I joked, “Does that mean you’ll come pick me up whenever I ring you?” He gave me his small smile, and said, “Maybe.” I looked at him, and I couldn’t tell if he was serious. “You know, we can’t keep doing this,” I told him. “We’re not a couple anymore.” And at that point, he broke down. And I forgot my pride and any sense of indignity and I asked, “Do you want to give it another try?” At first, I thought he was going to reject me once more. And I felt so foolish and so stupid for even suggesting it. But then he said yes.
So I got home with a red nose and swollen eyes, and yet I couldn’t feel happier. I’m determined to keep this relationship alive. He said I’ve always been the better half of our relationship, but he didn’t realise that by finally letting his heart speak for him, he became a better man. I’ve always been a girl who uses her heart, and couldn’t care less about using her brain. For him, rationality and logic always comes first before emotions. So for him to have broken through that invisible barrier, I knew that he truly cared. For once, he forgot about his pride.
And suddenly, my world was whole again.
