Chapter 4 – The Way We Pretend To Heal
The next morning came quietly.
Ansh woke up with the weight of the previous night still clinging to his chest like wet cloth. The silence in the room wasn't empty — it was loaded. With everything they hadn't said, with everything they had tried not to feel.
Elina had left early. A folded piece of paper sat on the table beside a lukewarm cup of coffee.
"There's a small lake on the edge of town. Thought we could use some air.
I'll wait. You don't have to come."
No sign-off. No name. Just like her. Just like always.
Ansh stared at it for a moment, then slowly reached for the gloves on the chair. The numbness in his fingers had spread further up the arm today, but he didn't let it show — not even to himself. Not yet.
The lake wasn't far.
Brno was quieter than Prague — older, more tired in a comforting way. The streets were narrow and mostly empty. Trees lined the sidewalks like they'd been standing guard for centuries. And there, sitting alone on a weather-worn bench facing the water, was Elina.
She didn't look up when he arrived.
"Wasn't sure you'd come," she said quietly.
"I wasn't either," he replied.
He took the seat beside her, leaving just enough space for the cold to sit between them.
They watched the ducks skim across the still water.
A breeze passed, and Elina pulled her coat tighter. Ansh didn't move. The gloves helped, but not enough. He felt the chill differently now. From the inside.
"You're quieter than usual," she said.
He gave a half-smile. "You used to like that about me."
"I still do," she said, barely above a whisper.
Then added, "Sometimes I wish you'd let me in, though."
Ansh didn't reply.
Because he didn't know how.
They sat like that for a while — not talking, not touching, just coexisting.
Two people with a thousand things between them, and no bridge strong enough to cross.
"Do you remember the last time we sat like this?" she asked suddenly.
Ansh nodded. "Amsterdam. The canal behind that hostel."
"You were sketching strangers," she said.
"And you kept making up stories about their lives," he added, finishing her memory.
Elina smiled faintly. "I told you that one couple had just broken up, and you said, 'Then why are they still walking side by side?'"
He looked at her. "What did you say?"
She turned to meet his eyes. "Because sometimes, love takes time to stop walking."
Ansh looked away first.
His fingers twitched slightly. The pain was dull, like a warning that was trying not to scream. He shifted, just enough for Elina to notice the discomfort. She didn't say anything — just quietly slipped her scarf off and handed it to him.
He stared at it.
"I'm fine," he said.
"I know," she replied. "But maybe I'm not."
And she placed the scarf on his lap anyway.
They walked a bit afterward. Along the gravel trail that circled the lake. A small food stall stood near the bridge, selling hot drinks and roasted nuts. Elina bought two cups of warm cider and handed one to him.
He hesitated — hands trembling slightly — then took it with both palms wrapped tightly around the cup.
"Are you cold?" she asked.
"A little."
But it wasn't the kind of cold a drink could fix.
They kept walking.
At one point, she paused at the water's edge. There was an old wooden dock, crooked and half-sunken. She stepped onto it slowly, arms out for balance, like a child.
Ansh stayed behind, watching her.
"Come on," she called.
"I don't think it'll hold me."
"Maybe that's the point," she said, laughing lightly.
He eventually stepped onto the first plank, just enough to stand beside her.
And for a moment — just a heartbeat — they were children again. On an adventure. Before the hurt, before the distance. Before time became something they had to race.
"What are we doing, Elina?" he asked softly.
She looked at the water.
"Pretending," she said.
"Pretending we're okay. Pretending this trip isn't about me getting married in three weeks. Pretending you're not..."
She stopped herself. Looked at him.
He didn't flinch.
But the tremor in his hand returned.
"You're not fine," she said.
"And you're not sure you want to marry him."
They stood like that — finally, all the pretending laid out between them like broken planks on the dock.
"I didn't call you because I wanted to feel better," she said.
"I called you because I didn't know how to feel anything at all."
Ansh looked at her. "And now?"
"I feel everything. Too much, actually."
He closed his eyes for a second, letting the wind press against his face.
Then whispered, "I wish we had more time."
She turned to him. "We always said that."
"And we were always running out of it."
They left the dock in silence.
On the way back to the hotel, Elina brushed her hand against his, just slightly. He didn't pull away. But he didn't hold on either.
And that was them — almost something. Always almost.
[End of Chapter 4]