Wherever You Go

“I’m sorry.”

The words trembled out, quieter than I intended, barely cutting through the low hum of the coffee shop. Zoya’s hand froze mid-motion, her latte hovering just shy of her lips. Her sharp gaze flicked up to mine, and I felt the weight of it — a blade ready to strike.

“For what exactly, Jared?” she asked, her voice calm but carrying that razor-sharp edge I knew too well.

This was it. My last chance to salvage the remnants of what we once had — or bury it for good. My palms, slick with sweat, clung to the edge of the table as I leaned forward, as though the motion could bridge the chasm between us.

“For… not being honest with you,” I said, forcing myself to hold her gaze. “About everything. About why I left. About why I’m back.”

She lowered the mug slowly, her movements deliberate, calculated, like someone weighing whether to listen or to walk away. Her silence wasn’t forgiveness — I knew that. Zoya never forgave easily. If at all.

“You disappeared. For six months. Without a word,” she said, her voice steady but sharp enough to cut. “And now you think a simple apology is enough?”

“No,” I said quickly, my words tumbling out in desperation. “I don’t think that. I know it’s not enough. I just… I need you to know the truth. You deserve that much.”

She leaned back, crossing her arms. Her face betrayed nothing — a blank slate that terrified me more than her fury ever could.

“Fine,” she said after a pause. “Talk.”

I exhaled shakily, the air rushing out of my lungs like a dam breaking, and began.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Explaining wasn’t easy. It hadn’t even been easy to admit to myself. Back then, leaving had felt like the only option. The pressure. The expectations. The crushing weight of a future I wasn’t sure I wanted — it all consumed me. Zoya had been talking about moving in together, about rings and venues, and I could barely breathe. It wasn’t her. Zoya was perfect. I wasn’t.

“I panicked,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t you, Zoya. It was me. I wasn’t ready for everything you wanted. I didn’t know how to tell you without feeling like a failure. So, I ran.”

Her expression shifted, subtle but telling. Hurt. Anger. Both.

“You think I wanted perfection from you?” she asked, incredulous. “All I ever wanted was for you to try, Jared. To show up. You didn’t even give me the chance to understand.”

“I know,” I said, nodding, the weight of my guilt pressing down on me. “I know that now. But back then… I couldn’t see past my own fears. I thought leaving would be easier than staying and proving how much I didn’t deserve you.”

Her face softened, just for a moment. Then the walls went up again, her expression hardening. “So, what changed? You had an epiphany and decided to waltz back into my life?”

“Not exactly,” I admitted. The words were heavy on my tongue. “After I left, I spent months avoiding myself. I moved around, stayed with friends, took odd jobs — anything to keep busy. But no matter where I went, it all caught up with me. One day, I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the person staring back.”

Her eyes stayed on mine, unreadable but steady. She wasn’t going to let me off the hook — not yet. But she was listening.

“I ended up in this small town up north,” I continued. “Met a guy named McKay. He ran a shelter, helping people who’d hit rock bottom. He took one look at me and saw right through the act. Told me I was just as lost as the people I was pretending to help.”

“Sounds like a smart guy,” Zoya said, raising an eyebrow.

I smiled faintly. “He was. McKay said something I’ll never forget- ‘You can’t outrun yourself, Jared. Wherever you go, there you are.’ It hit me like a brick. I realized I wasn’t just running from you. I was running from myself. From the person I didn’t want to be.”

Her arms uncrossed slightly, her hands now resting on the table. “So, what did you do about it?”

“I started doing the work,” I said, my voice firm. “Therapy. Volunteering. Learning to face my fears instead of burying them. And the more I worked on myself, the more I realized what I’d lost. What I’d thrown away. You.”

Her gaze wavered. Just for a second. She looked away, blinking rapidly.

“You think you can just walk back in and pick up where we left off?” she asked, her voice softer now. “It’s not that simple, Jared.”

“I know,” I said. My hands unclenched from the table, but my resolve held firm. “I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t expect anything. I just… I needed you to know I’m not the same person who left. And if there’s even the smallest chance we can rebuild something — anything — I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

The silence between us was deafening. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. For a moment, I thought she might leave, and I wouldn’t have blamed her. But then, she sighed. Her elbows rested on the table as she leaned in, her voice soft but deliberate.

“You hurt me, Jared. More than I can explain. But… I appreciate your honesty. It’s more than I ever thought I’d get.”

I nodded, holding my breath.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” she continued, the vulnerability in her voice cutting deep. “But maybe — I’m willing to try. Slowly.”

Relief swept over me, mingled with guilt and determination. “That’s more than I deserve. Thank you, Zoya.”

She gave a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got a lot to prove.”

“I know,” I said, my voice steady. “And I will.”

The tension between us eased, just slightly, leaving room for something tentative. Fragile. It wasn’t resolution. It wasn’t closure. But it was a beginning — a chance. And for the first time in months, I felt like I was moving in the right direction.