"If you ask me, you're better off," she says, leaning back. "I mean, you two weren't even that close, right?"
I look down at my untouched coffee, opening my mouth—then shutting it firmly.
"It's just that," she says quickly, waving one hand through the air like she's swatting away a bad memory. "You were always the only one making an effort." She reaches for her cup and takes a sip, nodding to herself. "That stuff gets old after a while. I've seen it happen plenty of times—trust me."
I wrap my hands around my mug, which has long since gone lukewarm.
"I would never work that hard to keep someone in my life. Friendship shouldn't be a chore you have to keep up with," she adds.
I nod. Once, still looking down at my cup. She smiles and exhales, relieved. "See? It makes sense when you think about it like that."
"Now that I'm really thinking about it," she says, tilting her head, "he never really showed up for you the way you did for him."
I lift my gaze from my cup, my eyes settling on hers. "That's not true," I say.
She pauses, eyes widening slightly. Then she smiles—softer.
"Okay," she says gently. "But you have to see how it looks. Not just my perspective—anyone's."
I don't respond.
"You always made excuses for him," she continues, lowering her voice as if she's sharing something private. "And I get why—you cared. But that doesn't mean it was healthy."
I open my mouth again.
She shakes her head before I can even start. "I'm not saying he was a bad person," she says quickly. "I think you might be trying to find another reason to forgive him, even now, even after things are over."
She reaches across the table and places her hand over mine. "Unlike him, I genuinely want what's best for you, you know that."
She squeezes my hand once before pulling back, already reaching for her bag.
"I'm really glad we talked," she says, standing. "I was worried about you."
I nod.
She smiles again—satisfied this time. "You're going to be okay. I know you can't see it yet, but you will."
I watch as she weaves through the tables, lifting a hand when she spots someone she knows. Not once does she look back.
I stay seated. My coffee is now cold. When the server passes, I slide the cup closer to the edge of the table, but not before noticing the vast difference between our cups. Hers sat empty, only leaving behind the ring of what used to be, while mine remained full—barely tasted.