EMPTY CHAIRS AND SILENT HOURS

The morning sun didn't feel the same.

Sophie sat on the edge of her bed for a long time, her fingers loosely tangled in the bedsheet. There was a dull ache in her chest, not sharp or piercing—just… there. Heavy. Constant. Like something important had been misplaced, and the world was slightly tilted because of it.

Her aunt noticed.

She always did.

While preparing breakfast, she glanced over her shoulder and said, "You didn't sleep much, did you?"

Sophie shook her head. "I'm fine."

The words didn't carry conviction. But her aunt, sensing her niece wasn't ready to talk, nodded and didn't press further.

The day passed slowly.

Afternoon painted the sky a pale gold when Sophie decided to go to the coffee shop.

She didn't tell herself she was going to look for him.

But that's what it was.

She wore her soft green sweater and pulled her hair back loosely. Her face looked calm, but her eyes told a different story. When she walked into the coffee shop, the familiar scent of roasted beans and cinnamon hung in the air, and she moved automatically to her usual spot by the window.

She sat down.

Ordered the same drink.

Waited.

Her eyes drifted to the door every few minutes.

She looked at her watch.

Ten minutes passed.

Then thirty.

Still no James.

People came and went. Some smiled at her. Others didn't notice her at all.

She stood up once, thinking maybe she should leave, but something held her back. A silly thread of hope, stretched thin but still unbroken.

Maybe he was just late.

Maybe he would walk in, apologetic and gentle, and say something like, "Sorry I kept you waiting."

But the door didn't open for him.

After almost two hours, she gathered her bag, quietly walked out, and stepped into the fading light.

Instead of going straight home, she took the road out of town—the same path they had walked together the day they watched the sunset.

It felt longer this time.

She passed the crooked signpost with peeling paint, the wildflowers along the roadside, and the wooden fence they had leaned against while laughing at a bird that tried to steal James's scarf.

At last, she reached the small hill where the world had opened up like a painting.

The jacaranda tree still stood tall, its purple leaves stirring in the soft wind. The old blanket was no longer there, but the memory of it was.

Sophie sat down on the same patch of grass they had shared.

The sun was beginning to dip again.

It cast a warm, golden light across the field—just like it had that evening.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the tree trunk.

In her mind, she could hear his voice.

> "I love you, Sophie."

She opened her eyes again, stung by the memory.

> *If James really left me… what am I going to do?*

There was no answer. Only the breeze and the whisper of the leaves.

The kind of silence that knew how to echo.

She sat there until the stars began to prick through the sky.

And when she finally rose to leave, she whispered, "I miss you," into the night, hoping somehow, somewhere, it would reach him.

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