The afternoon sun was too bright for a day like this — warm, golden, almost mocking. Mira stood at the small café near her office, stirring her untouched latte until the foam dissolved into nothing. She wasn't supposed to be here. She didn't plan on running into anyone. But life, as always, had a cruel sense of timing.
"Mira?"
The voice was soft, but it carried a familiarity that made her hand freeze mid-stir. She turned slowly.
Sarah.
Of course.
Sarah looked exactly as she always had — effortlessly polished, her hair loose in waves, her smile trained to be both gentle and disarming. She was carrying a paper bag and that same air of innocence she'd always worn, as if the world owed her kindness for merely existing.
"I thought that was you," Sarah said, stepping closer. "It's been a while."
Mira didn't stand. She didn't smile. She just nodded once. "Yeah. It has."
Sarah hesitated, probably expecting warmth, or at least polite curiosity. But Mira had none left to offer.
"Ethan mentioned you've been… distant lately," Sarah began carefully, setting her bag on the table as though she belonged there. "He's worried, you know. You should talk to him."
Mira let out a quiet laugh — dry, unamused. "Is that what he told you?"
Sarah blinked, flustered by the sharpness in Mira's tone. "He just said things have been hard between you two. I—I wanted to check on you. You've always seemed so... kind."
Kind. The word used to be a compliment. Now it sounded like an insult — the kind of word people used when they wanted to disarm you before twisting the knife.
Mira finally looked at her, really looked. "You know, Sarah, it's funny. You've been part of our lives since the beginning. Always there, always in the picture. Sometimes I wonder if you ever noticed how much space you took up."
Sarah's eyes widened, caught between guilt and self-righteousness. "I never meant to cause problems, Mira. Ethan and I go way back. You can't just erase history."
Mira tilted her head. "No, you can't. But you can choose where to live — in the past or the present. I guess both of you made your choice."
The words weren't bitter. They weren't angry. They were flat, calm, final.
Sarah shifted, clearly expecting the usual confrontation — tears, shouting, explanations. The things Mira used to give freely, like an apology for her own hurt. But there was none of that now.
"I think you're being unfair," Sarah said, her voice tightening. "He loves you, Mira. He's just... complicated."
"Everyone is," Mira said, reaching for her cup. "But not everyone hides behind that word to excuse what they do."
Sarah's carefully constructed composure cracked for the first time. "So what, you're just giving up? You're really walking away after everything?"
Mira took a slow sip of coffee, the bitterness grounding her. "I'm not giving up. I'm just done. There's a difference."
Sarah blinked. "You make it sound easy."
"It's not," Mira said simply, placing the cup back down. "But at some point, you get tired of explaining yourself to people who already decided what story they want to believe."
Sarah stared at her, unsure how to respond. She'd expected the old Mira — the one who cried, who pleaded, who tried to win arguments that were never meant to be fair. But that woman had gone quiet long ago.
Mira stood, slipping her bag over her shoulder. "You can tell Ethan I'm fine. Actually—no. Don't tell him anything. Let him wonder for once."
"Mira—"
"Sarah," she interrupted, her tone light but sharp. "You don't have to defend him anymore. I don't even care who's wrong or right. I just don't want to be in the story anymore."
Sarah's lips parted, but no words came. Mira walked past her, the faint scent of rain and coffee trailing behind her like punctuation.
Outside, the world was noisy again — cars, laughter, the hum of life that had nothing to do with Ethan or Sarah. For the first time in a long time, Mira felt something that wasn't anger or sadness.
It was distance.
Not the kind that hurt — the kind that healed.
She slipped on her sunglasses, stepped into the sun, and thought,A woman should know how to give up.
And this time, she didn't look back.