The Meeting

The evening sun was gradually dissolving into the horizon, casting a golden hue over the quaint little cafe that had been their spot. It was tucked away from the hustle of the main street, a place of warmth, intimate corners, and memories that lingered like the faint aroma of coffee beans in the air. He hadn’t been there in months. Not since that day.

The breakup.

But today was different. She had called him after all this time, her voice tentative, unsure, asking if they could meet. “Just like old times,” she had said, her words carrying a soft ache that he couldn’t ignore.

As he pushed open the familiar wooden door, the little bell above chimed the same way it always had. There she was, seated at their usual table by the window, fidgeting with her cup. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a moment, neither spoke. The sound  of all those unsaid words, all the months of silence, hung in the air between them.

“Hey,” she smiled softly, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He smiled back, a little cautiously, taking the seat across from her.

For the first few minutes, the conversation was light, awkward even, as they discussed the small things — work, the weather, new movies. But as the evening wore on and they settled into the rhythm they once knew so well, the conversation drifted to the past. To the times they had laughed at this very table, sharing stolen glances and inside jokes that no one else could understand.

“Remember that time we stayed here until they had to kick us out?” she asked, her voice soft with nostalgia.

“And you tried to convince the barista that you could make better cappuccinos than him,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You were terrible, by the way.”

She laughed, a genuine sound that warmed the space between them. “I wasn’t *that* bad.”

“You nearly broke the machine.”

“Fine, I was terrible,” she admitted, smiling. “But it was fun, wasn’t it?”

He nodded, his gaze drifting to the window, where the light outside had softened into twilight. The laughter died down, leaving a quiet, wistful silence in its place. For a moment, the memories felt so real, so close, that it was as if no time had passed at all.

They had been so foolish, they realized now. The fight, the breakup — they all seemed so trivial in the light of these shared moments. The arguments that once felt so monumental had lost their meaning. They had loved each other deeply, and it seemed ridiculous now that they had let it slip away.

Her hand reached across the table, brushing against his. “Maybe we were wrong,” she whispered, her eyes searching his. “Maybe we made a mistake.”

His heart skipped a beat. He had missed her — missed this. The familiarity, the connection. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe that maybe they could turn back time, undo the hurt, and find their way back to each other.

But just as he opened his mouth to respond, his phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with a text message.

Without thinking, he glanced at it — and froze. The message was from Bidisha.

“Can’t wait for our dinner tonight! 🙂 See you soon x”

He stared at the screen, his mind suddenly swirling with guilt, confusion, and the sharp realisation of what this moment really was. This wasn’t a reunion. It wasn’t a second chance. It was the end of something they had both outgrown without fully acknowledging it.

Her eyes followed his, landing on the phone, and the message that shattered the fragile hope hanging between them.

“Bidisha?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, though it carried the weight of everything she feared.

He looked up at her, his jaws tightening. He hadn’t wanted this. He hadn’t expected it to end like this. But this was the moment of truth.

“I… I didn’t know how to tell you,” he started, fumbling for the right words. “We’ve been… I’ve been seeing her for a while now.”

Her face paled, the softness in her eyes replaced by a quiet, hollow shock. The realisation hit her like a wave — the memories, the laughter, the connection they had once shared — it was all in the past. She realised she had lost him long before this meeting.

“I see,” she said finally, her voice steady but distant. She pulled her hand back from the table, wrapping her fingers around the cup instead, as if holding onto something, anything, that was still familiar.

For a few long moments, they sat in silence. The cafe around them, once so full of warmth and shared moments, now felt cold, as though time itself had shifted between them.

“I should go,” she said quietly, standing up and gathering her things. Her movements were deliberate, but her eyes betrayed the emotions swirling inside her. “Thank you for coming.”

He stood up too, wanting to say something, anything, to make it right, but no words came. What could he say? He hadn’t meant to hurt her — but he had.

She offered him a small, sad smile before turning towards the door. As she walked away, the bell chimed softly again, a final note in the soundtrack of their story.

He watched her leave, knowing that this time, there was going to be no coming back.

And outside, as the dusk settled in, she stepped into the street, the gravity of what was lost pressing heavily on her heart. The world around her felt the same, but she knew, in that quiet moment, that everything had changed. Forever.

What they had once shared would now only live in memories — as the memories of a love that had slipped away when neither of them were even aware of it.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar, 2024. Any article, story, write-up cannot be reproduced in its entirety or in part, without permission. URL links can be used instead