99

99

Point of View: Bela

The apartment felt strange, different, even though everything was in its usual place. But Clara was no longer there, and that made the air feel heavier, as if her absence was a weight I couldn’t quite carry. Every corner, every object seemed to remind me of her: the book left open on the coffee table, the robe hanging in the bathroom, the two coffee cups forgotten in the sink. Everything screamed silence, absence, loss.

I tried to fill the void with work, but my fingers hesitated on the keyboard, my mind elsewhere. The TV was on, playing some random movie, but I barely paid attention. My head was spinning, full of memories, desires, fears. My body still felt her touch — the warmth of her fingers on my face, the scent of her skin, the way our eyes met that night that changed everything, or should have changed everything.

Then my phone vibrated on the living room table. A message from Lívia, the woman I had met at the café a few days before. The screen lit up with simple words:

"Hi, Bela. How about coffee? Just to talk, no rush. Only if you want."

I held the phone for a long time, my gaze fixed on the letters. My heart raced, a mix of anxiety and fear. I didn’t know if I wanted to leave this hole of loneliness. I didn’t know if I wanted company, not after what I had lost. And even more, I didn’t know what Lívia really wanted from me.

I deleted the message. Typed a short reply. Deleted it again. I did this several times until the phone went silent, forgotten on the table — just like I felt.

The next day, I went to the café I always went to try to clear my head, still feeling heavy. I could barely breathe properly when I saw her sitting at the same table where we first met. She looked at me with that calm, almost patient smile, and didn’t seem surprised to see me.

"You’re not going to send me away?" I asked, trying to hide the tremor in my voice.

"Never. I came just to listen. If you want to talk, of course," she answered, without pressure, with a soft glow in her eyes.

I hesitated, almost got up to leave, but something about that calm held me back. I sat, not really knowing what to do.

The silence between us was heavy for a moment until I spoke slowly.

"I don’t know what to say. I feel so many things at once. Missing, fear, anger. I miss her," my voice broke. "But I’m afraid of losing myself in this longing."

Lívia looked at me attentively and said, "It’s normal to feel all that. You’re holding on to something that’s no longer there, but you don’t know how to let go."

I wanted to believe I could let go, but my body wouldn’t follow. I swallowed hard and continued, "How do you not give up when everything feels so hard?"

She smiled kindly. "I don’t pretend it’s easy. But I accept that some things need time to heal. You don’t have to skip that step."

I bit my lip, trying to hold back tears. Her words shook me, but the fear was greater.

"What if I open up and get hurt again? What if I forget what I had with her?" I asked almost in a whisper.

"You won’t forget. What’s passed is part of your story, no one can take that away," she answered firmly. "But making room for something new doesn’t mean erasing the past. It just means giving yourself a chance."

For a moment, I wanted to believe it could be true. But my chest hurt and my mind filled with doubts.

We stayed silent for a while longer until she got up to leave.

"I know it’s not easy. And I don’t want to rush anything. I just want you to know I’m here," she said before walking away, leaving a card on the table.

I looked at the card, my name written delicately, and felt a mix of relief and confusion. I had to decide, but the decision felt overwhelming.

That night, lying in bed, the silence was even crueler. I picked up the phone, pressed it to my face, and started typing a reply.

"We can talk."

I deleted it.

"I need someone to listen."

Deleted again.

Finally, I typed:

"Yes. We can talk."

I sent it. My heart raced. It wasn’t a "yes" to whatever might come next, nor a "yes" to forgetting Clara. It was just a small step — timid, uncertain, but mine.

I closed my eyes, feeling fear and hope fighting inside me.

From then on, maybe I could breathe a little easier, even with her silence still echoing loudly in my chest.