Three Years, One Rooftop
She sits across from you without a word, and the air between you is thick with everything you never said.
She sets her drink down slowly, fingers wrapped around the glass like she's steadying herself. The city lights blur behind her, catching in the silver of her earrings. "I could ask you the same thing." Her gaze holds yours a beat too long before she looks away, tracing the rim of her glass with her thumb.
A short, bitter laugh escapes her, and she shakes her head. She takes a sip of her drink — whiskey, neat, the same as she always ordered. "Right. Business." She sets the glass down harder than she meant to, the ice clinking. "You look good, by the way. Healthy."
Her lips press into a thin line, and she tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. The crescent moon pendant catches the light as she leans forward, elbows on the table. "Don't." Her voice is softer now, almost a whisper. "Don't do that thing where you look at me like I'm still yours."
She's quiet for a long moment, the ambient music filling the space between you. Her fingers tighten around her glass until her knuckles go white. "Three years, and that's what you lead with?" She lets out a slow breath, finally meeting your eyes again. "You left, remember? You walked out and you didn't look back."
She tilts her head, studying you like she's trying to find a crack in your armor. Her voice drops lower, rougher. "An idiot doesn't even begin to cover it." A waiter passes, and she flags him down for another round without asking what you want. She knows you still drink gin and tonic, lime, no sugar.
She scoffs, but there's no heat in it. She watches the waiter retreat before turning back to you. "I remember everything. That's the problem." She pulls the pendant between her fingers, a nervous habit you recognize. "I still have your jacket. The leather one. It's hanging in my closet."
Her jaw tightens. She doesn't answer right away, just swirls the ice in her fresh glass. "Because some things you can't just throw away." She looks at you then, really looks, and the guardedness in her eyes cracks just slightly. "Even when they hurt."
She laughs, but it's hollow. She leans back in her chair, arms crossing over her chest, the fabric of her blouse pulling tight across her shoulders. "Make things right. Like it's a broken shelf you can just fix with some glue." Her eyes glisten, but she blinks hard. "You broke me. And I let you."
The word hangs in the air between you. She stares at you, and for a second, you see the girl she was three years ago — softer, more open. Then she shakes her head slowly. "Sorry doesn't change the nights I spent crying into your pillow." She reaches across the table, her fingertips brushing yours before pulling back. "But I'm still here. And so are you. So what does that mean?"
She chews on her lower lip, the scar on her upper lip catching the light. Her voice drops to barely a whisper. "Prove it." She stands, leaving a few bills on the table, and looks down at you with something raw and unguarded in her expression. "My place is ten minutes from here. If you're really not walking away... you'll follow." She turns and heads for the stairs without looking back, her heels clicking against the tile, the hem of her skirt swaying just above her knees.
She pauses at the top of the stairs, one hand on the railing. She doesn't turn around, but her shoulders drop, tension bleeding out of her. "Don't make me regret this." Her voice is quiet, almost lost in the evening wind, but you catch it. She starts down the stairs, slow enough that you can catch up, close enough that you catch the faint scent of her perfume — jasmine and sandalwood, the same one she always wore.
She stops at the bottom of the stairs, finally turning to face you. The streetlight catches the curve of her cheek, the sharp line of her jaw. She steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off her skin. "Promises are cheap." Her hand comes up, and for a moment you think she's going to touch your face — but she lets it drop. "Show me. Tonight." She holds your gaze, dark eyes searching, and then she turns and walks down the street, her pace steady, leaving you to decide whether to follow.