When Love Break Ties

Chapter 49: Letting Go

Nathan sat in the familiar café, the one where he and Abby had crossed paths just months earlier. The faint hum of conversations filled the room, punctuated by the occasional clatter of cups and saucers. But the noise didn't register with him. His focus was on the letter that lay in front of him on the table, the last words Abby had written to him. He had read it several times now, and with each reading, the sense of finality deepened.

The words in the letter were clear—gentle but firm. Abby had written about the growth she had experienced since their separation, about how their time together had shaped her. But she had also written about the necessity of letting go. There was no bitterness in her words, no anger. Only acceptance of the path that life had taken them both on.

Nathan took a deep breath and folded the letter carefully, tucking it back into the envelope. He had known this moment was coming. They had both changed since their relationship had ended. The intense feelings that once bound them together had softened, not into love, but into something calmer, something wiser. It was the understanding that what they had shared had served its purpose.

He glanced out the window, watching the passersby move about their lives, oblivious to the quiet storm of emotions he was navigating. It felt surreal in a way, like a chapter was finally closing. Abby had become such a significant part of his life that the thought of truly letting her go left him feeling both hollow and at peace. It was an odd combination.

His phone buzzed on the table. A message from Abby. She was on her way. Their last meeting—an unspoken agreement to put a final period on the story that was their relationship—was about to happen. Nathan had no idea how he would feel when he saw her. Would the old feelings resurface? Would he regret their choices? Or would he find the closure he had been seeking since their separation?

Abby arrived minutes later. She slipped through the door of the café quietly, like she didn't want to draw attention to herself. When their eyes met, Nathan felt a twinge of something—nostalgia, perhaps. But it wasn't the overpowering wave of emotion that had once characterized their interactions. Instead, it felt...gentle, like two old friends who had been through something together, who now recognized the importance of moving on.

She smiled as she approached, and he returned the gesture. The tension that had once filled their meetings was no longer there. Instead, there was a sense of mutual respect, a shared understanding that their journey together had been meaningful but that it had also come to its natural conclusion.

"Hey," Abby greeted softly as she sat down across from him. "Thanks for meeting with me."

Nathan nodded, his gaze settling on her face. "Of course. I'm glad you reached out."

For a moment, they sat in silence. It wasn't the awkward silence of unresolved issues, but rather the kind that comes when two people know that they've said everything that needed to be said. Yet, there was still something unspoken lingering between them—something they both knew needed to be acknowledged.

"I read your letter," Nathan said finally, breaking the quiet. "It was beautiful, Abby. And... it was the closure I think I needed."

Abby's eyes softened, and she nodded. "I'm glad. Writing it wasn't easy, but I needed to do it—for both of us. I've been doing a lot of reflecting lately, and I realized that holding on to the past was only keeping me from moving forward."

Nathan looked down at the table, tracing the edge of his coffee cup with his finger. "I've been doing the same. For a long time, I was holding on to this idea that maybe, somehow, we'd find our way back to each other. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that we've both changed. We're not the same people we were when we first met."

Abby sighed, her expression pensive. "We're not. And I think that's okay. We were meant to cross paths, Nathan, but we were never meant to stay on the same one forever."

Hearing her say it out loud solidified something in Nathan's heart. He had known it, deep down, for some time now. But it was different when the words were spoken, when both of them acknowledged what had been clear all along.

"It's strange, isn't it?" Nathan mused. "To think about how much we loved each other, and yet... here we are, talking about moving on like it's the most natural thing in the world."

Abby smiled faintly. "Love isn't always about staying together. Sometimes, it's about letting go so both people can grow. And I think that's what we did for each other. We helped each other become who we are now, but we're not the same people who fell in love."

Nathan nodded, his chest tightening, but not in a painful way. It was the kind of feeling you get when you've finally come to terms with something you'd been avoiding for too long.

They talked for a while longer, sharing updates about their lives. Abby spoke about her family, how things had started to improve between her and her mother. She talked about the work she was doing, rebuilding her life in Cebu. Nathan listened, genuinely happy for her. She sounded content, at peace with where her life was headed.

Nathan, in turn, shared his own updates—how he had reconnected with his family, how his writing career had taken off in ways he hadn't expected. The workshop offer he had received had been a turning point, and he had approached it with a renewed sense of purpose. He wasn't the same lost, uncertain man who had gone to Tokyo all those months ago. He had found his footing again.

As they spoke, it became clear that while they had once been everything to each other, they no longer needed to be. Their lives had diverged, and they were both okay with that.

The conversation eventually reached a natural pause. Abby glanced at her watch, then back at Nathan. "I should probably get going," she said, her voice soft.

Nathan felt a pang of sadness, but it was tempered by the knowledge that this was the right thing. "Yeah," he replied. "Me too."

They stood, and for a moment, there was an unspoken question in the air—whether or not to hug, whether this was a goodbye with a finality they both felt.

Abby seemed to sense his hesitation, and she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him in a warm, familiar embrace. Nathan hugged her back, and for a brief moment, they were the people they had been once—young, in love, full of hope. But as they pulled away, they were who they were now—two individuals who had grown, who had learned, and who were ready to move forward on their separate paths.

"Take care, Nathan," Abby said softly, her eyes glistening with emotion, but no tears fell.

"You too, Abby. You deserve the best," Nathan replied.

With one last smile, Abby turned and walked out of the café. Nathan watched her go, feeling a strange mix of emotions—relief, sadness, and something else. Closure.

As he left the café and stepped out into the cool Manila air, Nathan felt lighter. There was no more holding on to what had been. He and Abby had shared something beautiful, something transformative. But now, it was time to let go.

He walked down the street, his thoughts quiet for once. The past was behind him, and the future—whatever it held—was waiting.

Nathan smiled to himself, feeling a sense of peace that had eluded him for so long.

Sometimes, love meant letting go.

And that was okay.