Everything with you

Part 44

Emma

The café was quiet except for the soft hum of conversation and the faint clinking of dishes. I sat by the window, my hands wrapped around a lukewarm cup of coffee I hadn't touched in over an hour. Outside, the world moved on, people bustling down the sidewalk, cars honking in the distance. But inside, my world felt like it had come to a standstill.

Waiting.

That's all I had been doing lately—waiting for him to come back, waiting for my phone to light up, waiting for the ache in my chest to ease.

Exams were almost over, and I should've been excited to go home. I had imagined walking through the door to my mother's warm embrace and the familiar comfort of my childhood room. But now, the thought filled me with dread. My mother had always warned me this would happen, had told me that first loves rarely lasted. She'd told me Justin would break my heart. The breakup felt like confirmation of every doubt my mother had ever voiced, and I wasn't sure if I could handle the knowing look in her eyes or the quiet, "I told you so." My relationship wasn't supposed to end this way—not now, not like this.

I stared at the phone on the table in front of her, willing it to light up with a message, a call—anything from Justin. But it remained stubbornly silent, mocking me with its stillness.

He had walked away two weeks ago. No explanation that made sense, just cold, calculated words that still rang in her ears.

"This was a mistake... We were a mistake... You deserve better..."

I had replayed that moment a hundred times since, dissecting every word, every inflection in his voice, every flicker of emotion he tried to hide. He hadn't even looked me in the eye when he said it.

"Liar," I muttered under my breath, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. I knew him too well, knew the way his jaw tightened when he was forcing himself to say something he didn't believe.

He thought he was protecting me. That much was clear. But from what? From him? From his struggles he refused to share? I didn't care about his flaws or his darkness—I cared about him.

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to let them fall in public. I had cried enough in the past two weeks to fill an ocean, and yet the ache in my chest refused to subside.

The chair across from me scraped against the floor, and I startled, my heart leaping before sinking again when I realized it wasn't him. Just some stranger sitting at the wrong table. I gave them a weak smile and turned back to the window, my fingers tightening around the cup as if it could somehow anchor me.

He thought he was doing what was best for me, but all he'd done was leave her adrift. Didn't he realize I didn't want "better" if it didn't include him?

A loud laugh from another table broke my thoughts, and I glanced over at the couple seated there, leaning close, their hands intertwined. Her chest tightened as a fresh wave of hurt washed over her. That used to be them—sharing quiet moments, stealing touches, finding comfort in each other's presence.

Now all I had was silence.

I inhaled deeply, trying to steady myself, and picked up my phone, my thumb hovering over his name in my contact list. I wanted to call him, to scream at him, to demand answers—but I didn't.

Instead, I set the phone back down and stared out the window again, the coffee growing colder in her hands. If he thought this was what I needed, I would let him believe it. But deep down, I knew the truth.

We were both hurting. And neither of us knew how to fix it.

Hayley rushed into the cafe, almost knocking over the waiter on her way to me.

"Sorry I'm late! My last class was horrible!", She made her way to our table, taking a seat; the stranger who was previously seated there had just moved to a different table.

"It's fine," I mumble, still looking out the window.

"You look terrible, Em. I know you're going through a rough time, but you need to get past it.", she says softly. I did look like a mess; my dark brown hair was tied up in a bun, and I didn't bother to brush it. I rarely wore makeup; now I completely skip it. My clothes were the same; I wore jeans and a hoodie.

"I'm comfortable," I retort, shrugging my shoulder.

"That's the issue; you're too comfortable. You need to step out of it, Em. You're a freshman for god's sake! You need to be out there dating cute guys, not moping over an idiot. You need a change. Oh! I know what we can do!", she says excitedly.

I narrow my eyes in suspicion. "What do you have in mind?"

"Makeover!" Hayley's broad smile made her blue eyes sparkle.

"No..." I dismiss the idea immediately, but once she gives me her puppy dog eyes, I cave in.

The salon smelled like a mix of hairspray and citrus, and the sound of hairdryers and chatter filled the air. I hesitated at the entrance, watching Hayley stride confidently ahead like she owned the place. Her excitement practically radiated off her, a stark contrast to the dull weight in my chest.

"Come on, Em," she called over her shoulder, her grin as bright as ever. "This is going to be fun."

I followed her reluctantly, my sneakers scuffing against the glossy floor. Fun? Maybe for her. For me, this just felt like another reminder that my life had unraveled in ways I couldn't control. My hand instinctively went to my hair, tucking a stray strand behind my ear as I glanced around nervously.

Hayley looped her arm through mine, pulling me gently but insistently toward the stylist's chair. "Trust me," she said, her tone playful but with an edge of determination. "A fresh look is exactly what you need right now."

I sighed, my chest tightening. "I don't know if this will help," I murmured. My voice sounded small, even to me.

She stopped and turned to face me, her smile softening but no less confident. "Em, it's not about him," she said, her tone firmer now. "It's about you. You're not just moving on—you're leveling up."

I wanted to believe her, to feel even a fraction of her enthusiasm. But the ache in my chest felt too big, too heavy. Still, the way she looked at me—like I deserved better, like I could be better—made me take a step forward.

The chair felt cold as I sat down, and I caught my reflection in the mirror. My face looked pale and tired, and my eyes had shadows under them I didn't remember being there before. Hayley stood behind me, her hands resting on my shoulders, her expression a mix of pride and anticipation.

"Let's do this," she said, her grin returning full force.

I forced a small smile, my heart still unsure but a tiny spark of curiosity flickering to life. Maybe Hayley was right. Maybe this was a start.