The Weight of What Was

Gilbert slumped into the corner booth of the café, his fingers drumming restlessly on the wooden table. The rich aroma of roasted coffee beans filled the air, but it did little to lift his mood. His father had, once again, managed to piss him off, and he needed space—far away from the suffocating expectations of his family. Hanging out with his friends didn't appeal to him either, which is how he ended up here, seeking solace in caffeine and solitude.

Just as he was about to bury himself in his thoughts, a voice cut through the hum of chatter. Smooth, rich, and oddly familiar.

"So, can I get your order?"

His brows furrowed as he looked up, eyes locking onto a face he recognized immediately.

Her.

The girl from the event. The same one he had accidentally bumped into.

For a split second, their eyes widened in mutual recognition before both of them reacted at the same time.

"Are you stalking me?" she blurted, crossing her arms. Her green apron did little to hide the tension in her posture.

Gilbert let out a sharp, humorless laugh, leaning back against the booth. "You? Stalking you? Please." He scoffed, shaking his head. "I don't even know your name."

She huffed, clearly unimpressed. "Then let's keep it that way. What do you want?"

Her fingers tapped against the small notepad in her hand, but her foot tapped against the tiled floor, betraying her irritation.

Gilbert smirked, amused by her hostility. "Iced latte. And some cookies."

Without another word, she spun on her heel and walked away, but not before throwing a glare over her shoulder, as if daring him to say something else.

Minutes later, she returned, placing his order down with just a bit too much force. The iced latte nearly sloshed over the rim of the cup. Gilbert arched an eyebrow, lifting the cup with deliberate ease, watching her as he took a slow sip.

She lingered behind the counter, arms folded, eyes narrowing at him like he was some sort of puzzle she couldn't quite solve.

What was her deal?

Gilbert found himself staring at her longer than necessary, something about her bristling energy making him curious. She seemed convinced that he had some hidden agenda when, in reality, he barely remembered their first encounter.

The moment their gazes met again, a silent challenge passed between them. Gilbert, unable to resist, stuck out his tongue like a mischievous child.

She did the same.

He choked on his drink, caught off guard by her unexpected response.

From the side, another barista—her name tag read Annabel—sidled up next to her, watching the silent battle unfold with amusement. "Uh, Raven?" she asked, voice laced with teasing curiosity. "Why are you glaring at him like that?"

Raven—so that was her name.

"He's annoying," Raven muttered, flipping a stray strand of hair over her shoulder.

Annabel gave her a knowing look. "Annoying? Or are you just mad he's getting under your skin?"

Raven's head snapped toward her. "Excuse me? Absolutely not."

Annabel laughed, walking away before Jade could argue further.

Gilbert smirked into his coffee, tapping his fingers against the cup. This was going to be interesting.

(Music recommendation:When the Party's Over" – Billie Eilish)

Just as Gilbert decided he'd had enough of a break, he pushed himself up from his seat and headed for the door. But the moment he stepped outside, he stopped in his tracks.

Michelle stood right there.

His breath hitched. For a split second, the world around him faded, leaving only her.

She looked different. Lighter. Like the weight that once tethered her down had lifted. The glow in her eyes, the easy way she held herself—it all felt like a gut punch.

And yet, she was still Michelle. The same woman whose laughter used to fill his world. The same woman he had let slip away.

Her lips curved into a small, polite smile. "Hey."

Gilbert swallowed hard, forcing himself to return the smile. "Hey."

Silence. Not the comfortable kind they used to share, but a loaded, awkward pause that neither of them seemed to know how to fill.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, shifting slightly, like she wasn't sure whether to stay or keep walking.

He let out a soft, humorless chuckle. "Having coffee." Stating the obvious like an idiot.

She gave a small nod. "Oh. Nice." Her fingers tightened slightly around the strap of her purse. "Good to see you again."

She moved like she was about to leave. A flicker of panic ran through him. He wasn't ready for her to walk away just yet.

"Michelle?"

She stopped, turning back to face him. "Yeah?"

He hesitated. So many words clawed at his throat, demanding to be spoken. Apologies. Regrets. The things he never got to say. But all that came out was—

"You look good."

The second the words left his mouth, he wanted to kick himself. That was all he had? After everything?

Michelle's smile didn't waver, but something flickered in her eyes. Disappointment? Hope?

"Thanks," she said softly.

For a heartbeat, she lingered. Like she was waiting. For him to say something more. To acknowledge the history between them.

But the words stayed lodged in his chest.

Memories hit him like a wave—the way she used to curl against him when it rained, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about her dreams, the way she had once looked at him like he was her future.

Now, she stood in front of him, whole without him.

His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to reach for her. To say something, anything, that might bring back what they lost.

But it was too late, wasn't it?

"Good to see you again," he said instead.

Michelle held his gaze for a second longer, then gave him a soft, knowing smile.

"You too."

She turned, and this time, he didn't stop her.

He didn't look back.

He wondered if she did.

As Gilbert walked away, his father's voice echoed in his mind, sharp and unrelenting.

"She is nothing. A nobody."

His jaw clenched. The words felt like chains, dragging him back to a past he wished he could escape.

"You cannot be with her . You have your while life ahead of you. How can you give it all up for some commoner?"

His father's voice dripped with disdain, each syllable a dagger twisting into his chest. He could still see the fury in the old man's eyes, the way he stood tall and unyielding, expecting Gilbert to obey—like he always had.

But that day had been different. That day, Gilbert had stood his ground.

"Michelle means very thing to me!" he had shouted, his voice raw with desperation.

His father had scoffed, dismissing his words as though they were nothing more than a child's foolish rebellion. But Gilbert had meant it. God, he had meant it.

And yet…

She had left anyway.

A bitter taste settled on his tongue as the memory of that night crashed over him—the way Michelle's hands had trembled when she let go of his, the unshed tears in her eyes as she whispered, "I can't do this, Gilbert."

He hadn't believed her at first. He had reached for her, ready to fight, ready to run if that's what it took. But she had only shaken her head, stepping back, away from him, away from everything they had built.

Now, as he walked down the quiet street, his hands curled into fists at his sides. The wind was cold against his skin, but not as cold as the emptiness she had left behind.

He had promised her forever.

But forever had never been theirs to have.