THURSDAY EVENING
7:00 PM
The cafe was almost empty.
Noah sat at a corner table, back against the wall. Hands wrapped around a coffee that had gone cold an hour ago.
Outside, the streets were slick from earlier rain. Streetlights reflected in puddles. Fog creeping in.
Everything looked gray.
He checked his phone.
7:02.
Emma would be here any minute.
His stomach twisted.
The door opened. Cold air rushed in.
Emma.
She spotted him and smiled.
That fucking smile.
Noah's chest squeezed tight.
She'd dressed up—not fancy, but nice jeans, that blue sweater he'd mentioned once. Hair down, makeup done.
She thought this was a date.
She thought—
Shit.
"Hey." She slid into the chair across from him, set her bag down. Still smiling. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic was insane."
"It's fine."
She reached across the table and touched his hand.
Warm fingers.
Noah's throat closed up.
"I'm so glad you texted," she said. "I was getting worried. You've been so—" She stopped, looked at his face. "Are you okay?"
He pulled his hand back slowly. Tried to make it look natural.
It didn't work.
Emma's smile faded.
"Noah?"
He couldn't do this.
Had to do this.
"Emma." His voice came out rough. "Thanks for meeting me."
"Of course. What's—" She stopped again, studying him. "What's wrong?"
Noah looked down at his untouched coffee.
Took a breath.
Looked back up.
"I need to tell you something."
The air changed.
Emma went still.
"Okay," she said carefully.
Noah's hands curled into fists under the table.
"These past three years," he started. Stopped. Tried again. "You've been amazing. You've been everything anyone could want."
Emma's expression shifted.
"Noah, you're scaring me."
"I'm sorry. I just—" He exhaled hard. "I'm not good at this."
"At what?"
Silence.
Emma's eyes were wide, searching his face.
"Just tell me," she said quietly.
Noah's jaw clenched.
"I haven't been fair to you."
"What does that mean?"
"It means—" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "It means I care about you. A lot. But I can't be what you need anymore."
The words just hung there.
Emma blinked.
"What?"
"I'm sorry."
"No. Wait." She shook her head. "What are you saying right now?"
Noah made himself hold her gaze.
"I think we should—"
"Don't." Her voice went sharp. "Don't fucking say it."
"Emma—"
"Is this about work? The stress? Because we can figure it out, we can—"
"It's not work."
"Then what?" Her voice rose. People at the counter looked over. Emma didn't notice. "What is this?"
Noah's hands were shaking under the table.
"It's me," he said. "Not you. It's—"
"Don't give me that bullshit."
"It's not bullshit. It's true."
Emma stared at him.
Her eyes were filling up.
"I don't understand," she said. "We were fine. We've been fine. What changed?"
"I don't know."
"Yes you do." Her voice broke. "Tell me."
Noah's throat felt like it was closing.
"Something inside me," he said quietly. "I can't explain it. But it's not right. It hasn't been right for a while. And I kept pretending because you're—you're perfect, Emma. You really are."
"Then why—"
"Because perfect for someone doesn't mean perfect for me." The words came faster now. "And that's not your fault. It's mine. I tried to make myself feel something I just... don't feel. And that's not fair to you."
Tears spilled down Emma's cheeks.
"You don't feel what?"
Noah couldn't answer.
Emma's hands were on the table now, clenched tight.
"Say it," she said. "If you're doing this, at least say it."
He owed her that much.
"I don't feel the same way you do."
Emma flinched like he'd slapped her.
"You—" Her voice shattered. "You don't love me."
"I care about you. I—"
"That's not what I asked."
Silence.
Noah looked down.
That was answer enough.
Emma made a sound—half sob, half laugh.
"Wow." She wiped her face with shaking hands. "Three years. Three fucking years, Noah."
"I know."
"And you just—what? Woke up one day and decided you didn't love me?"
"It wasn't like that."
"Then what was it like?" She was crying harder. "Explain it to me. Make me understand how you can just—"
"There's someone else, isn't there."
Noah's head snapped up.
"No."
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying. There's no one else."
"Then what is it?" Emma's voice cracked. "What am I missing? What didn't I do? What—"
"Nothing." Noah leaned forward. "You didn't do anything wrong. You've been incredible. Patient and kind and—"
"Then why are you leaving me?"
The question broke between them.
Noah's eyes burned.
"Because staying would be worse," he said roughly. "Every day I stay here knowing I can't give you what you deserve, I'm lying to you. And I can't do that anymore."
"I don't care." Emma was sobbing now. "I don't care if you're confused or whatever this is. We can work through it. We can—"
"We can't."
"Yes we can!"
"Emma—"
"I love you." Her voice broke completely. "Don't you get that? I love you and I don't care if you're going through something. We can fix this."
Noah's throat was so tight he could barely breathe.
"You can't fix me," he said quietly. "There's nothing to fix. I'm just—I'm not who you think I am."
"What does that mean?"
He couldn't explain it.
Didn't know how.
"It means I'm figuring shit out," he said. "About myself. About who I am and what I—" He stopped. "And you shouldn't have to wait around while I do."
Emma stared at him.
Tears streaming.
"This is really happening," she whispered.
Noah's chest felt like it was caving in.
"I'm sorry."
"Stop saying that."
"I don't know what else to say."
Emma laughed—bitter, broken.
"You could say you'll try. You could say it's worth fighting for."
"It wouldn't be fair."
"To who? Me?" She wiped her face again. Mascara smudged under her eyes. "I get to decide what's fair to me. And I'm telling you I want to try."
Noah shook his head.
"I can't."
Silence.
Emma's hands were trembling on the table.
Noah wanted to reach for them.
Couldn't.
"Is there anything I can say?" Emma asked, voice small. "Anything that would change your mind?"
"No."
She nodded slowly.
Looked down.
"Okay."
"Emma—"
"No." She stood up fast. Chair scraped back. "Don't. Just—don't."
She grabbed her bag.
Noah stood too.
"Please. Let me—"
"What?" She looked at him—eyes red, face wet. "Let you what? Explain more? Make me feel better about you breaking my heart?"
"I never wanted to hurt you."
"Well you did." Her voice shook. "You really fucking did."
She turned to leave.
Stopped.
Looked back.
"I hope it's worth it," she said. "Whatever you're figuring out. I hope it's worth this."
Then she was gone.
The door swung shut.
Noah stood there.
The cafe was quiet except for the espresso machine hissing.
His legs felt unsteady.
He sat back down.
Stared at the table.
At the wet spots where Emma's tears had fallen.
His hands were shaking.
He pressed them together.
Against his forehead.
Breathed.
What the fuck did I just do?
---
9:30 PM
Noah's apartment was dark when he got home.
He didn't turn on the lights.
Just dropped his keys on the counter.
Walked to the bedroom.
Sat on the edge of the bed.
Stared at the wall.
Emma's face kept flashing through his head.
The way she'd looked at him.
Like he was a stranger.
Like he'd broken something that couldn't be fixed.
His chest felt hollow.
Scooped out.
The first sob hit without warning.
Silent, shaking his whole body.
Then another.
He pressed his hands over his face.
Tried to stop it.
Couldn't.
Three years.
He'd just thrown away three years.
For what?
For confusion? For some feeling he couldn't even name?
The sobs kept coming—quiet, broken.
His shoulders shook.
Tears sliding through his fingers.
I'm sorry.
I'm so fucking sorry.
But sorry didn't fix anything.
Sorry didn't make Emma stop crying.
Sorry didn't make him feel less like he'd just destroyed something good because he was too fucked up to appreciate it.
He sat there in the dark.
Face wet, breathing ragged.
Until he had nothing left.
Just emptiness.
And the weight of what he'd done.
He fell back on the bed.
Stared at the ceiling.
What now?
No answer.
Just silence.
And the hollow ache in his chest.
Tomorrow was Friday.
The party.
His friends.
Atlas wouldn't be there.
One night without thinking.
One night to forget.
He closed his eyes.
Emma's voice echoed.
I love you.
Don't you get that?
He turned onto his side.
Buried his face in the pillow.
And let the silence swallow him whole.