If only...

Chapter 11

Time has a strange way of passing. Some days, it crawls—each hour a weight, dragging itself across the minutes, and you feel every second of it. Other days, it slips through your fingers so quickly you barely register its passing. For me, after Will left that morning, it was a little bit of both.

At first, I thought I could rebuild. I threw myself into the shop, kept myself busy with the customers, with the endless rearranging of books and the steady routine of running the place. Weeks passed, and I learned to move through them, pretending like I wasn't counting each one. But the truth was, no matter how hard I tried to focus on work, on the shop, on anything but him, there was always this hollow ache in my chest that refused to fade.

It wasn't just about Will—it was about everything I thought we could have had, all the conversations that could have been more, all the moments that could have turned into something real. I kept wondering if I'd done the right thing. I kept wondering if I should have fought harder, if I should have held on instead of pushing him away. But the longer the silence stretched, the more I tried to tell myself that it was for the best.

Autumn melted into winter, and the days became shorter, the nights longer. The rain turned to snow, and then, as quickly as it had come, the snow thawed, leaving the streets slick and bare again. Spring passed in a blur of fresh air and new faces, but none of it made a difference. Summer came and went, the shop quieting as people left town for vacations, and still, there was this feeling I couldn't shake—that something was missing, that I was waiting for something, or someone, who wasn't going to come back.

A year passed. A whole year.

And I wasn't okay.

I didn't know how to say it out loud, but I felt it every day. The weight of the emptiness inside me had grown heavier, not lighter, as the months passed. My life had become a series of routines, of quiet afternoons spent in the shop, of reading poetry that once felt alive but now only echoed my own loneliness back at me.

It was October again, and I could feel the anniversary of that morning creeping up on me like a shadow. A whole year since Will had walked out of my life, leaving me with nothing but questions and regrets. I tried not to think about it, tried to keep my focus on the books, on the few customers who still trickled in as the days grew colder. But every day, as I stood behind the counter, I couldn't help but glance toward the door, half-expecting—half-hoping—that he'd walk through it again, like some ghost from the past.

But he didn't.

Until he did.

It was late one evening, and I was about to close up. The shop was quiet, the dim light casting long shadows across the shelves. I had just turned off the "Open" sign when I heard the soft jingle of the bell above the door.

I froze, my heart lurching in my chest. It couldn't be.

But there he was, standing just inside the doorway, his figure outlined in the fading light of the streetlamps outside. Will. A year older, a year apart, but still him. His blonde hair was longer now, curling at the edges of his coat, and he looked tired in a way that felt familiar—like life had worn him down, too.

I stood there, stunned, my breath caught in my throat. I wasn't sure if I was dreaming or if the weight of this last year had finally broken me and conjured him from my memories. But as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him, I knew it was real.

"Jude," he said, his voice a little rough, as if he hadn't used it in a while. "Hi."

I couldn't speak at first. I just stared at him, all the feelings I had carefully tucked away over the past twelve months crashing over me in a wave. Anger, confusion, hope, hurt. It was all there, tangled up together, refusing to be sorted.

"Will," I managed, my voice barely more than a whisper. "What... what are you doing here?"

He took a step closer, but then stopped, as if unsure of how to move forward. "I've been thinking about this place. About you. For a long time."

I shook my head slightly, trying to clear the haze of disbelief. "It's been a year, Will. A whole year."

He winced at that, his hands slipping into the pockets of his coat. "I know. I know it has. And I should have come sooner, but I didn't know if you'd want to see me. After everything..."

I stared at him, feeling the ache in my chest return. "Why now?"

Will let out a slow breath, his eyes flickering around the shop before they settled back on me. "Because I couldn't stay away any longer. I tried, Jude. I tried to forget, to move on, but... I couldn't. I kept thinking about you. About us."

There it was again—us. That word that had haunted me for so long, the one I wasn't sure I believed in anymore.

"You didn't want me to wait, remember?" I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "You said I deserved more than that."

Will flinched at my words, and for a moment, I regretted the edge in my tone. But the anger I'd buried for so long was starting to surface, and I wasn't sure I could hold it back.

"I know," he said, his voice soft. "And I meant that. You do deserve more. That's why I didn't come back right away. I needed to figure things out. To be sure."

"Sure about what?" I asked, my heart pounding in my chest, both hopeful and terrified of the answer.

"About what I want," he said, his green eyes locking onto mine. "About who I want. I thought I could move on, but I was wrong. It's always been you, Jude."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning, with everything we'd left unsaid for the past year. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, the weight of it all crashing down on me.

"I don't know if I can do this again, Will," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I don't know if I can go through all of that again."

He took another step closer, closing the distance between us, but still keeping a careful space. "I don't expect you to forgive me just like that. I hurt you, and I know I can't take that back. But I had to come. I had to tell you."

I looked at him, standing there in the dim light of the shop, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself feel it. The pain, the love, the loss, and the hope. All of it.

"I never stopped thinking about you," I said quietly, the admission slipping out before I could stop it.

Will's face softened, and he took one more step closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know. I never stopped thinking about you, either."

We stood there, the silence stretching between us, but this time, it wasn't the kind of silence that suffocated. It was the kind that carried possibility, that crackled with something new, something fragile but real.

"Can we start over?" Will asked, his eyes searching mine, his voice laced with hope. "I know I don't deserve a second chance, but I want one. With you."

I looked at him, my heart torn between the pain of the past and the flicker of hope for the future. I wanted to say yes, to fall into his arms and forget all the hurt, all the months of waiting. But I couldn't ignore the fear still gnawing at me.

"I don't know, Will," I said softly. "I don't know if I can trust you again."

He nodded, his face serious. "I understand. But I'm here, and I'll wait. As long as it takes."

For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel so alone. The ache was still there, but it wasn't as sharp. There was something else now, something I hadn't felt in over a year: hope.

I didn't know what would happen next. I didn't know if we could rebuild what had been broken, or if this was just another chapter that would end in hurt. But for now, in this quiet moment, with the October rain falling softly outside and Will standing in front of me, I was willing to find out.

"If only," I whispered to myself, and then I looked up at him. "We'll see."