Unfinished Conversations

The city blurred past in streaks of light that mirrored Amara's unease as she stared out of the taxi window, her thoughts tangled somewhere between the steady rhythm of the rain and the weight of Noah's last words.

"You don't have to figure it out all at once. Even if it takes time, I'll be here anyway."

It had been days since their conversation at the café, and yet, those words lingered, pressing against the edges of her mind like a song she couldn't shake. She had wanted to believe them, had even let herself hold onto them for longer than she should have. But reality had a way of creeping in, threading doubt through the moments she wished she could keep untouched—memories of her ex's sharp demands echoing in the rain.

Her phone buzzed against her palm.

"Noah: Thoughts on time travel—been on my mind."

Amara frowned, typing back.

"Amara: What kind? Scientific or the kind where you go back and fix your mistakes?"

A pause. Then—

"Noah: The second one."

She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the screen. It wasn't like him to be this indirect, to speak in riddles instead of the steady certainty she had come to expect. Her thumb brushed the edge of the phone, a nervous tic, as the taxi's wipers sliced through the rain.

"Amara: You okay?"

It took longer for his response to come this time.

"Noah: Yeah. Just thinking."

She exhaled, leaning back against the seat, the leather cool against her neck. There was something unsaid in his words, something that pressed against her in a way she didn't quite know how to place. But before she could type another message, the taxi pulled to a stop in front of her building, the glow of the streetlights casting long shadows against the wet pavement.

As she stepped out, the rain greeted her in a soft mist, curling against her skin like a quiet question. She thought about calling him. Thought about asking what he really meant. But instead, she tucked her phone into her pocket and made her way inside, telling herself that whatever it was, it could wait until morning, the mist clinging to her coat.

---

The morning arrived in muted grays, the remnants of the storm still lingering in the overcast sky. Amara sat curled on her couch, a book in her lap, though she hadn't turned a page in the past twenty minutes. Her coffee had long gone cold beside her, its steam a distant memory.

Noah hadn't texted again.

She told herself it wasn't a big deal. They weren't the kind of people who needed constant conversation. But something about last night's exchange sat wrong, a thread pulled just enough to unravel something beneath the surface—a shadow of her own past fears creeping in.

With a sigh, she grabbed her phone and dialed before she could talk herself out of it, the rain tapping softly against the window as a backdrop.

It rang twice before he picked up.

"Noah."

His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, a quiet tension that hadn't been there before.

"Are you going to tell me what's actually on your mind?" she asked, skipping past the small talk, her voice steady despite the knot in her chest.

There was a pause. Then—

"I saw her yesterday."

The words landed with a weight she hadn't expected. "Her?"

"My ex."

Amara's grip tightened around her phone, the plastic cool against her fingers. "Oh."

"She was at the bookstore," he continued, his voice unreadable. "Her shadow lingered against the shelves. Didn't say much. Just… enough."

Enough.

The word sat between them, heavy with meaning she wasn't sure she wanted to unpack—memories of her own unfinished endings flickering at the edges.

"Are you okay?" she asked after a moment, her voice softer now.

A soft exhale on the other end. "Yeah. Just thinking."

"About?"

He hesitated. "How things end. How they don't always stay ended. That project—the one that collapsed—it was with her. Took everything with it."

A lump formed in her throat, the rain outside mirroring the dampness in her eyes. "Do you want them to?"

The silence stretched, filled only by the distant hum of the city outside her window. Then—

"Yes."

Her breath caught, but she forced herself to keep her voice even. "Okay."

Another pause. Then, softer—

"But endings don't come with guarantees, do they?"

Amara swallowed, the weight of his words sinking in. "No. They don't." She thought of her ex, his voice cutting through rain, demanding she move on—yet here she was, still carrying the echoes.

And just like that, she understood. The hesitation in his messages. The weight in his voice. He wasn't second-guessing. He wasn't looking for a way back. He was just… caught in the echoes of something unfinished, in the spaces left behind by a person who had once mattered.

She shifted, pulling the blanket tighter around her, the fabric rough against her skin. "You know what I think about time travel?"

Noah hummed softly, a sound that steadied her. "What's that?"

"I think we always want to go back to fix things, but maybe—after my own mistakes—we should be moving forward instead."

A beat of silence. Then—

"I like that."

She smiled, small but real, the rain tapping softly against the glass. "Good."

And for now, that was enough, the rain's rhythm a quiet witness to the fragile thread between them.