Caspian's Point of View
Caspian stood by the park's edge, the evening air cooler than it had been earlier. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, the weight of his thoughts heavier than anything in the world. The evening had brought with it a kind of stillness that made it hard to breathe, as if everything around him was suspended in time.
The park, once familiar and comforting, now felt like a foreign land, and Caspian couldn't quite place why. He had walked these paths countless times, side by side with Isolde, her laughter a soft melody to his ears. Their feet had left traces in the grass, and their conversations had woven through the trees like an unbroken thread. Yet now, the same trees seemed to be mocking him, standing tall and resolute while the rest of him seemed to be fading, becoming less and less sure of who he was and what he wanted.
He had spent years trying to make sense of the way things had ended between him and Isolde. It wasn't a simple break, wasn't a clear-cut ending. Their separation had been like trying to pull apart something woven together so tightly that the threads had resisted, frayed, and snapped only when the tension reached its breaking point. There had been no shouting, no grand gestures of finality. It had simply... unraveled. And for all the time that had passed, it still didn't make sense.
Now, here he was, years later, walking the same paths he had walked in college, seeing the same trees he had sat under with her, watching as couples passed by, their arms entwined, the kind of love he once thought would always feel like second nature to him. But every one of those couples only reminded him of the love he had lost, the future he had thought he would share with her, and the possibilities that had never been realized.
But all of it— every inch of this place— felt foreign now. It was as if he was a visitor, standing in a world that no longer belonged to him. Even the air, which had once carried the scent of nostalgia and warmth, now felt cold, a reminder that he couldn't stay in the past forever. He had outgrown this place, yet it still held him, its memories clinging like shadows that refused to be shaken off.
He'd thought that moving away from the memories would be enough. He had left the town, changed his address, and found new routines. But now, standing here, he realized how foolish he had been. Moving away didn't mean forgetting. Moving away didn't mean healing. It just meant existing without confronting the things that mattered most— without confronting himself.
The truth was, he couldn't keep running. He couldn't keep pretending that he was fine, that he was okay. It had been years of trying to move on, and yet he still found himself haunted by thoughts of Isolde— of the way her laughter had filled the corners of his life, of the way her presence had seemed to make everything clearer. It wasn't just her beauty or the way she looked at him; it was the way she had understood him, how she had seen parts of him that no one else had. How, for a moment in time, they had been a perfect match.
The soft buzz of his phone pulled him from his thoughts. Caspian looked down at the screen, seeing the name of his old friend Kieran once more. He hesitated before answering, but he knew, deep down, he needed this. He needed to talk, to stop pretending that everything was fine when it wasn't. He needed to stop carrying this weight on his own, even if the conversation wouldn't provide the answers he was looking for.
"Caspian," Kieran's voice was steady, though there was an edge of concern. "You okay, man?"
Caspian let out a breath, one that carried with it years of unspoken words. "I don't know. I think… I think I'm finally starting to see it. I've been running for so long from everything. From her. From the life I thought I had, from what was left after she walked away. But the truth is, I never really left. Not in any real way."
Kieran was quiet for a moment. "It's not easy, man. But if you've been holding onto something that long, maybe it's time to face it. You can't keep living in the shadows of what used to be."
Caspian let those words settle in the quiet, letting them linger as if they were a weight he had been carrying for a long time, only now fully acknowledging it. The truth was, he had tried to bury those shadows, to force himself to live in the present, but the past never really left him. It was always there, quietly lingering in the background.
"Yeah," Caspian said softly, more to himself than to Kieran. "I know. But what if it's too late? What if she's already moved on, and I'm just... stuck?"
"You won't know unless you try," Kieran replied. "You've been running in circles for too long, man. Maybe it's time to stop running and face what's ahead."
Caspian felt his chest tighten at the thought. What was ahead? Would confronting everything with Isolde make it better? Or would it only pull him deeper into the mess of unfinished things?
The night wore on, and Caspian found himself walking back to his apartment, lost in thought. The cool breeze felt sharper now, nipping at his skin, and yet, he barely noticed it. It had been a long time since he had allowed himself to feel this vulnerable. The weight of his own realizations was suffocating, and yet, there was something freeing about finally confronting it. For years, he had lived in avoidance, telling himself that he was fine, that he had moved on. But now, standing at the edge of something undefined, he wasn't sure what was next. Only that he couldn't stay in limbo forever.
He knew he couldn't keep running. He had to face it, for better or worse.
As he reached his apartment, he stood for a moment in front of the door, his hand resting on the doorknob, contemplating the next step. It was strange how he could still hear her voice in his head, still remember the way she had looked at him when she said goodbye— not in anger, not in frustration, but in resignation, as if she had known all along that they were on two separate paths, bound to meet only briefly before diverging forever.
Was it really too late? Or had he just been too afraid to admit that he still cared? That he still wanted to make things right? The question gnawed at him, refusing to let him rest, but it was a question he had to answer himself. For so long, he had avoided it. But now, for the first time in years, he felt like he had a chance to find the answer— or at least take the first step toward it.
Caspian exhaled, his mind racing through every possibility. No answers came, only more questions. But in that moment, something shifted inside him. A kind of clarity he hadn't had in years.
But for the first time in a long while, he felt something stirring within him— a desire to move forward, to take the first step toward whatever was waiting for him.
Maybe it wasn't too late, or maybe it was.
Inside his apartment, Caspian sat at his desk, the soft glow of the lamp casting long shadows across the room. He pulled out a piece of paper, his pen hovering above it for a moment as if unsure of what to write. His mind was flooded with thoughts, but they all circled back to one question: What did he want to say?
He didn't know. But he had to start somewhere.
Dear Isolde,
It felt like the simplest thing, yet the hardest thing. He could almost hear her voice in his mind, wondering what this was all about. She would probably never expect him to reach out after all this time. But maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop letting the past define him. To stop living in the fear of rejection. To stop hiding behind the idea that he couldn't move on because he wasn't ready to face the truth.
The ink on the page started to flow, slow and deliberate.
I don't know what the future holds, and I'm not sure what I'm asking for by writing this... but I need to start somewhere.
Caspian stopped, staring at the words for a long time, his heart pounding. The page was just a small, quiet thing, yet it held so much— too much, perhaps. He wasn't sure what the next step would be. But for the first time, he felt like he was finally taking it.