Eternal Ephemerals

Regrets

The city sprawled beneath him, restless and alive. Neon lights flickered, distant car horns bled into the hum of conversation from the street below. Life carried on—people went places, made plans, built futures.

And here he was.

Ethan exhaled, feeling the weight of the whiskey bottle resting between his fingers. Half-empty. Or maybe more. He had lost track. The alcohol sat warm in his stomach, numbing the edges of a sharp, familiar ache.

Where had it all gone wrong?

Not in one grand, defining moment. No, life didn't work that way. It wasn't one wrong turn—it was a thousand little missteps, piling up over the years, until suddenly he looked up and realized he was standing in a place he never meant to be.

Almost forty. Alone. Drunk on a cheap plastic chair on his apartment balcony, staring down at a life that had somehow slipped away from him.

It was stupid, the things that came back to him on nights like these. The moments that refused to fade, no matter how much he tried to drown them out.

Tonight, it was her.

Lena.

Funny, how people came and went, how entire relationships blurred into vague recollections, but some people—some regrets—stayed sharp, clear as day, no matter how many years passed.

Lena, with her meticulous notes, always ready before he even asked. Lena, who had sat next to him in class, who had never forgotten a deadline, who had seen potential in him long before he ever bothered to look for it himself.

They had been alike once. Same classes, same aspirations, same quiet dreams of doing something that mattered. They had even ended up working together—like the time they both showed up with the same science fair idea and had to share a booth, or the late nights spent pouring over textbooks in the library, their futures feeling just within reach.

And then, just like that, they weren't alike anymore.

It seemed so stupid now, the way they had drifted apart. Not even drifted—he had pushed her away.

The teasing had started small. Just a joke.

"She's totally into you, man."

"No way she just helps you for nothing."

He had laughed it off at first. But then the words got louder, more insistent, until they wormed their way into his head. Until he started wondering—why was she always handing him her notes? Why did she always stick around after class?

The truth had been simple.

She was just kind.

But it had been easier to believe his friends, easier to lean into their teasing than to stand up and say she's not like that, she's just a good person.

And so, instead, he had turned away. Stopped talking to her. Stopped meeting her eyes. Stopped accepting her help.

And she?

She had gotten the message.

No more notes waiting on his desk. No more quiet conversations in the hall. No more studying in the library, dreaming about the futures they both swore they'd have.

She hadn't said anything. No confrontation, no bitterness. Just quiet acceptance, like she had always known he would disappoint her eventually.

And the worst part?

He had let it happen.

He had let her slip away, convinced himself it didn't matter. He had other friends. He had baseball. He had all the time in the world.

And then, somehow, he didn't.

Lena had gotten into the university she wanted, the one they had both talked about. She had gone on to do everything they once swore they would—gotten the degree, the PhD, built a damn startup based on her thesis. He had seen her name once in an article, barely recognized the polished, confident woman in the photo.

And he?

He had spent his senior year coasting. Thought AP classes weren't worth the stress. Spent more time messing around than studying, telling himself, who needs straight A's anyway?

One rejection letter turned into two. He took a gap year, which became two, then three. Eventually, college just... never happened. A job he told himself was temporary stretched into something permanent. One drink after work turned into a habit, an old friend he could count on.

And now, here he was.

His fingers tightened around the whiskey bottle as he stared down at the street below.

Had she ever thought about him, even once, over the years?

Did she remember the late-night study sessions? The science fair? Did she ever wonder what happened to him?

Or had she moved on so completely that he had become just another name in the background of her life, a barely-remembered classmate who had faded into insignificance?

Would she be surprised if she saw him now?

Or worse—would she not be surprised at all?

The thought made his stomach twist.

It wasn't just about her. It was about all of it. The wasted time. The roads he hadn't taken. The opportunities he had let slip through his fingers.

It wasn't that he wanted her life. He didn't begrudge her success—she had earned it.

But he had wanted that too.

And once, it had been possible.

Once, he had been someone. Someone with ambition. Someone with talent. Someone who could have done more if only he had tried.

He ran a hand over his face, feeling the exhaustion settle deep in his bones.

Would it always be like this? Would he always be the man who almost made something of himself? Would he spend the rest of his life looking back, wondering about the life he could have had?

Or was there still time?

The question lingered, heavy and unanswered.

Below him, the city kept moving. People were making choices, taking chances, trying.

And Ethan?

He took another sip of whiskey.

And wondered if it was already too late.