Enter Mia

In the wake of that night's painful encounter with Jordan, I felt unmoored. The intensity of our connection—and the memories it stirred—left me questioning everything. I wanted to believe in the present, to move forward, but the weight of those past lives, that haunting sense of betrayal, clung to me like a second skin. 

So, I did what I thought might anchor me, something that might pull me away from the tangled mess of emotions and memories that tied me to Jordan. I tried to find solace in something simpler, something free of the complexity and history that haunted our relationship.

Enter Mia. We'd crossed paths at an art exhibit the week before, exchanging a few friendly comments over a piece we both admired. She was a painter, her laugh easy and warm, her smile unburdened by the shadows of any past lives or complicated memories. Her presence was refreshing, uncomplicated—a blank canvas.

When she asked if I wanted to grab coffee sometime, I surprised myself by agreeing. Maybe a new connection, one untainted by echoes of past lives, was exactly what I needed. Perhaps, in Mia, I could find stability—a calm refuge from the storm Jordan and I had stirred up.

We met at a cozy cafe a few days later. The conversation flowed effortlessly, gliding through topics like art, books, travel, and our ambitions. Mia had a zest for life that was infectious. She leaned across the table as she told stories, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm, her hands moving as she described her inspirations and dreams. 

For a few moments, I felt a reprieve. She was kind and grounded, her energy a balm to the churning thoughts that plagued me. And, when she laughed at something I said, I almost believed I could let go of everything with Jordan, leave behind the entanglement of past lives and complicated feelings.

Our coffee dates became regular, and over time, I began to open up to her about the fears and anxieties I hadn't been able to share with anyone else. Mia listened without judgment, without probing into areas that felt too fragile. She accepted me as I was, and there was a comfort in that.

One night, after a gallery showing, we found ourselves strolling through the empty streets. The city lights cast soft reflections on the pavement, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a calm settle over me. We talked about our favorite childhood memories, things that made us laugh and forget the heaviness of adulthood. There was something grounding about Mia's presence; her world felt safe, untouched by the haunting edges of past lives.

At one point, she stopped, looking up at the sky, a wistful expression in her eyes. "You know, Avery, it feels like I've known you forever." She gave a soft laugh, almost as if embarrassed by the admission.

My heart skipped at her words, the familiarity in them tugging at something deep within me. But I pushed the thought away, unwilling to let Jordan's memory intrude on this moment. I wanted something different, something simple. 

I reached for her hand, and she looked up at me, her eyes filled with warmth and genuine affection. Slowly, we leaned in, her face inches from mine. I closed my eyes, willing myself to let go, to allow this connection to replace the mess I had with Jordan.

But as her lips met mine, a sensation hit me—a rush of images, fragments of past lives, almost like watching a movie on fast-forward. None of them were of Mia. Instead, it was Jordan's face that flashed before me, over and over, in different places and times, each memory more intense than the last. 

I pulled away, my breath shaky, feeling as though I had been doused in ice water. Mia looked at me, concern in her gaze.

"Avery? Are you okay?"

I forced a smile, nodding, though I could feel the weight of my emotions pressing down on me. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just… a lot on my mind."

She reached for my hand, her fingers warm against mine. "If you ever need to talk, I'm here."

Her kindness made my chest ache, guilt mingling with the realization that I couldn't escape Jordan, no matter how much I tried. I was tethered to him in ways I hadn't fully understood until now.

The rest of the evening was quiet, my thoughts miles away. When I walked Mia home and said goodnight, I felt hollow. I realized that no matter how much I tried to move on, the connection I shared with Jordan wasn't something I could easily replace or forget. It was bound to me, woven into the fabric of who I was.

As I walked back to my apartment, I felt the weight of regret settle in. I had tried to console myself with something easy, something that felt safe. But safety didn't come with the intensity and depth of what I had with Jordan. And perhaps, it was time I stopped running from it.