The Pieces Left Behind

The walk back from the bridge was quiet.

Ethan's body felt heavy, like he had been carrying a weight for so long that he had forgotten what it felt like to breathe. Clara walked beside him, her presence steady, unshaken, like an anchor keeping him from drifting too far into the darkness again.

The city lights flickered in the distance, the sound of late-night traffic humming in the background. Neither of them spoke, but Clara's occasional glances at him—filled with unspoken concern—said enough.

Finally, she broke the silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Ethan exhaled, staring at the ground. "What's there to say?"

Clara sighed. "Ethan, I know you think you're alone in this, but you're not. You don't have to keep everything bottled up."

He gave a bitter chuckle. "What difference does it make? Talking won't bring Sophia back. Talking won't change the fact that she's out there living her dream while I'm… stuck here, drowning."

Clara flinched at the mention of Sophia but quickly masked it. "Maybe not. But if you keep pushing everyone away, it's only going to hurt you more."

Ethan didn't respond. He just kept walking, his thoughts a tangled mess of regret, pain, and something dangerously close to longing.

Sophia.

It had been months since he had last seen her, last heard from her. No calls, no texts, nothing but silence.

At first, he told himself she was just busy. That she would reach out eventually. But weeks turned into months, and all he got were glimpses of her on TV—her performances, her rising fame.

She was becoming everything she had ever dreamed of.

And he was nothing but a forgotten chapter in her story.

---

A Fractured Heart

They reached Ethan's house, the small, dimly lit structure feeling more like a prison than a home. Clara hesitated at the doorstep.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked softly.

Ethan forced a small smile. "Yeah. Thanks for… you know. Everything."

Clara's eyes searched his face, as if trying to gauge how much of that was a lie. "Call me if you need anything. Promise?"

He nodded. "Promise."

She still looked hesitant, but finally, she turned and walked away.

Ethan stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The silence was deafening.

His eyes drifted to the scattered pages of his failed writings on the desk, the empty whiskey bottles on the floor, the photographs of a past that felt like a dream.

And then, out of instinct, he reached for his phone.

For the hundredth time, he scrolled through his messages, staring at the last conversation he had with Sophia.

Sophia: "I'll always be there for you. No matter what."

That was it. That was the last thing she had ever sent.

And she hadn't been there since.

Ethan's chest tightened. He wanted to hate her. He wanted to be angry. But all he felt was emptiness.

He tossed his phone onto the bed and ran a hand through his hair, his breaths uneven.

Then, in a desperate attempt to feel something, he picked up his pen and started writing.

---

Chasing Shadows

Days passed. Then weeks.

Ethan tried. He really did. He tried to pull himself together, to find some sort of purpose. He threw himself into writing, sending manuscripts to publishers, hoping for a miracle.

But rejection after rejection piled up.

"Your work lacks vision."

"Not the kind of story we're looking for."

"Thank you for your submission, but we'll be passing."

Each letter felt like another nail in the coffin of his self-worth.

Clara kept checking in on him, trying to pull him out of his slump, but Ethan felt like a shadow of himself.

One night, as he sat in his room drowning in self-loathing, his phone buzzed.

Not Sophia.

Clara.

He hesitated before answering.

"Hey," he mumbled.

"Ethan, come outside," Clara said.

He frowned. "What? Why?"

"Just come outside."

With a sigh, he dragged himself to the front door and stepped out into the cold night air.

Clara was there, leaning against her car, a small smile on her lips.

"What are you doing?" Ethan asked.

She held up two cups of coffee. "I figured you could use a break. Thought we could just… drive."

Ethan hesitated. He was tired. Worn out. But something about Clara's presence—her unwavering support—made it hard to say no.

"Alright," he said finally.

Clara smiled. "Good. Get in."

---

A Road to Somewhere

They drove for a while, the city lights fading behind them as they ventured onto empty roads.

Ethan stared out the window, his thoughts still heavy.

Clara glanced at him. "You know, you're allowed to miss her."

Ethan stiffened. "I don't—"

"You do," she interrupted. "And that's okay. But you can't let her absence destroy you."

Ethan swallowed hard. "I just don't get it. How do you walk away from someone you love and never look back?"

Clara's grip on the wheel tightened. "Maybe she thought she was doing what was best for you. Maybe she didn't know how to balance both."

Ethan scoffed. "Or maybe I just wasn't enough."

Clara flinched but stayed quiet for a moment.

Then, softly, she said, "Maybe you were too much for her, Ethan. And she wasn't enough for you."

The words hit him harder than he expected.

Too much.

Not enough.

Maybe that was the truth he had been avoiding.

Maybe Sophia had left not because she didn't love him, but because she couldn't love him the way he needed.

Maybe she had always belonged to a world that he was never meant to be part of.

The realization settled deep in his chest. It hurt. But it also—freed him.

---

New Beginnings

As the car rolled to a stop near an empty lake, Ethan took a deep breath.

For the first time in a long time, he felt like he could breathe.

Clara turned to him. "You know, just because one dream fails doesn't mean another can't take its place."

Ethan let out a small laugh. "You sound like a fortune cookie."

Clara smirked. "Hey, I'm trying to be wise here."

Ethan looked at her then—really looked at her.

She had been there through everything. The pain. The self-destruction. The emptiness.

And she had never left.

Something stirred in his chest—something different from what he had felt for Sophia.

It wasn't burning, overwhelming passion.

It was warmth.

A quiet, steady kind of love.

One that didn't demand to be chased.

One that had always been there.

Ethan's lips curled into a small, genuine smile. "Thanks, Clara. For everything."

She smiled back. "Always."

And as they sat there, watching the water ripple under the moonlight, Ethan realized—

Maybe this was the beginning of something new.

Something worth chasing.

Something worth holding onto.

WAIT FOR "CROWNLESS KING" STORY soooon.