I opened my apartment door slowly, my mind still clouded by the unresolved conversation with Alya. No conclusion. No closure. Just the sound of two people walking in circles, trying to make sense of something that had already fallen apart. So I left. I needed space to think. And maybe, she did too.
But I wasn't expecting someone to be here.
Lying on my sofa was a familiar figure—Ruben. He looked exhausted, his chest slowly rising and falling as he slept. I had no idea how long he'd been waiting. Hours? The whole night?
For the first time, I wanted to run to him. To hold him close and apologize for the cold, cruel way I had treated him. But some part of me held back, reminding me why I left him in the first place.
Silently, I walked past him, tiptoeing toward my bedroom and hoping not to wake him. But of course, I failed.
He stirred, then sat up, his voice soft and raspy, "Finally, you're home."
I squinted at him, paused, and took a deep breath. The air felt unusually heavy tonight—thick and dusty, like the room had absorbed too many secrets. I turned back toward him.
Ruben looked at me, truly looked, his tired eyes searching mine. He reached for my arm and gently pulled me into a hug. His body was warm and trembling.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Just two words. But they carried so much weight.
I said nothing. I couldn't. My mouth wouldn't move. My throat felt tight. Ruben pulled back slightly, staring at me again, hope flickering in his eyes. Hope that whatever happened between us yesterday had only been a misunderstanding. A minor fight. A bump in an otherwise perfect story.
But that wasn't what it was. Not for me.
"It's over, Ruben," I finally said.
He blinked. "Why?"
"There's someone else," I answered, my voice sharp. Almost too sharp.
I knew those words would cut him. I felt the pain recoil in me as soon as I said them. But I couldn't keep using his kindness as a safety net. He deserved more than to be kept in the shadows of my confusion.
He looked away, as if my words had physically struck him. "Who? Is he better than me?"
His voice trembled with suppressed anger, but he remained calm, careful. That was Ruben—always composed, even when he was hurting. He never raised his voice. Never cursed. Never blamed.
But I couldn't answer him. Not that question.
Because I didn't know.
Was Alya better? Was I happier? I didn't have answers to that. I wasn't even sure what I truly felt. Everything inside me was noise. Crashing, screaming noise.
He exhaled, almost in defeat. Then asked again, softer this time, "Are you happy with him?"
I froze. The question sliced through me, deeper than any before. And without realizing it, tears streamed down my face. I had no answer. At least not right now. Maybe not ever.
I didn't know if I was happy. I didn't know if I was escaping or arriving. All I knew was that I had made a choice, and I had to live with it.
Ruben stepped closer and held me again, gently pressing his lips to my forehead. "Then I'll let you go," he said. "Even if it hurts. I won't make this harder for you."
He pulled away and walked toward the door, pausing only once to add, "But I'm not disappearing from your life. If someday you wake from this dream, if you ever feel lost, I'll be where I've always been. I'll wait. I won't move an inch. So you'll always know where to find me."
Then he was gone.
And I was alone.
The rain started to fall outside, tapping on the windows like mocking fingers. It felt like the world was laughing at me, at my indecision, at my cowardice.
I curled into myself on the cold floor. My thoughts spiraled. I hated my heart for dragging me here, hated how it never aligned with logic. If only feelings could be ordered, instructed, reasoned with. But hearts don't follow rules. They whisper in contradictions.
I thought of Ruben, of the way he loved so patiently. I thought of Alya, of the way she made my chest tighten and my breath catch. I thought of myself—broken, confused, incapable of loving without hurting someone else in the process.
How did it come to this?
I hated that I wanted to stay. I hated that I wanted to go. I hated that I didn't know the difference.
And then I imagined that banana tree behind my childhood home—growing only to give, then cut down when it no longer could. Simple. Purposeful. No dilemmas.
Why couldn't I be like that?
I wanted to disappear. Just vanish from the face of the earth. No more choices. No more love. No more pain. But even in that thought, my feet remained rooted here, in this apartment, as if to mock me. I wanted to stop moving, stop thinking. Just be still. Forever.
I clung to myself, arms wrapped around this cursed body, cursing its desires, its doubts, its indecision. I wanted to lock my heart away—lock away all its fragile, selfish hopes. All the feelings it had no right to feel.
And yet, the sun began to rise.
I hadn't realized the night had passed. I was still in the same place. Still thinking the same thoughts. Still lost.
But something inside me whispered: choose.
Not for them. Not for the world. But for me.
And so I made a choice.
I would stay. I would stay with Alya—not because I was sure. But because this uncertainty needed to run its course. Because I needed to find out. Because I couldn't keep dragging Ruben through the ruins of my confusion.
To hell with what they said. To hell with judgment and shame and regret.
My eyes were dry now. My head pounded from crying too long. And yet, the pain remained. Dull and persistent.
I didn't know if I was doing the right thing.
But maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop running and simply see where this path would take me.
I whispered one last thing to the silence around me:
"Please, let this choice mean something."