The café was small — tucked between a used bookstore and a flower shop that always smelled like jasmine and sun.
Calen was already there when she arrived, sitting with a sketchbook open, a coffee half-drunk, and a look of calm that never rushed anyone.
Eleena paused before going inside.
There was no rush of nerves. No butterflies. No performance.
Just a simple thought:
"I want to be here. I want to know him."
She stepped inside.
"Hey," Calen said with a smile, looking up. "You're early."
"I was afraid if I waited too long, I'd overthink it and never show up."
"Good," he said, motioning to the seat across from him. "I'm glad you came anyway."
The conversation was easy. There were no games, no subtle tests. They talked about art, travel, how Calen used to dream of being a cartoonist as a kid. Eleena found herself telling him about her childhood, her love for writing, and even her recent heartbreak — not in detail, but enough to be honest.
"I loved him," she said, eyes on her tea. "But sometimes love isn't enough if it keeps asking you to disappear a little more each day."
Calen nodded, quiet for a moment. "Then you're brave for walking away."
"I thought it made me weak."
"No," he said, "it makes you real. And rare."
They walked after coffee. Through the city's winding streets, their steps slow, unrushed. At one point, he reached for her hand — not with assumption, but with invitation.
She hesitated… and then let her fingers find his.
It didn't feel like a new beginning.
It felt like peace with the past.
Later that weekend, fate did what it often does — it stirred old threads when you least expect it.
Eleena was in the grocery store, hair pinned messily, cart half-full, when she turned the corner and came face-to-face with Jace.
He looked different.
Thinner. Paler. Softer in the eyes.
He froze.
So did she.
"Eleena," he breathed, voice quiet.
"Hey," she replied, a little stunned, but not shaken. Just… surprised.
They stood there, in the produce aisle, surrounded by strangers and apples and things left unsaid.
"You look good," he said.
"So do you," she replied.
Silence stretched, but not painfully. Not anymore.
He cleared his throat. "I didn't think I'd see you again."
"I wasn't avoiding you," she said. "But I wasn't looking, either."
He gave a half-smile. "That's fair."
There was a long pause, and then she did something neither of them expected — she stepped forward and hugged him. Just briefly. Softly.
And in that second, it wasn't about romance. Or longing. Or regret.
It was closure.
When they pulled away, he looked like he wanted to say more — but he didn't.
Instead, he nodded and whispered, "I hope you're happy."
She smiled. "I am."
And she meant it.
That night, as she curled into bed, she thought about how far she'd come.
From crying on the bathroom floor, begging for answers…
To laughing with a man who asked for nothing but presence…
To forgiving someone who once made her forget her own worth.
She didn't need fireworks. Or declarations. Or cinematic endings.