A tale of what if

We broke up. Not that we were ever officially together, but somewhere along the way, I began to imagine we could be. A future with her crept into my mind like a dream that felt so vivid it started to blur the edges of reality. In this dream, we were happy. We had a daughter—Ava. Her laughter filled the garden of our small home. I imagined the warmth of her tiny hand in mine, the way Fayth’s eyes would light up as she played with Ava. It was perfect. But then, reality would pull me back, reminding me this was just one of infinite possibilities.

We live in a world of endless paths. In one, Fayth and I might have dated, married, and then grown apart, leading to divorce. In another, maybe we met but didn’t connect at all, passing each other like strangers. Or perhaps, in a twist of fate, we never met at all. These possibilities stretch endlessly before us, and they’re both fascinating and terrifying. Love, after all, is just one thread in the tangled web of infinite outcomes. And the question that haunts me: Is there even such a thing as a soulmate?

The idea of a soulmate seems comforting at first, but when you unpack it, it’s riddled with flaws. What if someone never finds theirs? Or loses them too soon? Does their story remain incomplete? Or is there some cosmic reshuffling, where another soulmate emerges to fill the void? And how do we know that the love we feel is real, or simply the byproduct of neurotransmitters surging through our brains?

These thoughts consumed me long before Fayth asked me out. Our friendship had spanned six years, beginning in a coffee shop on a day when my indecision felt crippling. Shelly’s Coffee House had been my haunt for over a decade. I’d sit at the same table, central to the shop, with a perfect view of the street outside and the bustling counter inside. The staff knew my peculiar habit of taking an eternity to decide on my order. It wasn’t indecision; it was caution. Every choice branched into a labyrinth of outcomes, each with its own consequences.

That day, I was sifting through Shelly’s thirty-eight drink options, trying to eliminate all but one. Then she appeared. Fayth with a “y.” She stood at my table, her warm smile at odds with my brooding glare. I’d hoped she’d leave, noticing the abundance of empty tables around us. Instead, she sat down without waiting for my consent. "Hi," she said, her voice light but steady.

From that moment, Fayth’s presence was a disruption I hadn’t anticipated. She wasn’t just a stranger looking for a place to sit. She became my closest friend, the person who challenged my carefully curated theories and made me question my beliefs. Over the years, she had a way of weaving herself into my life, becoming a part of my rituals, my routines, and eventually, my heart. And yet, I never admitted to myself that I loved her. Love, to me, felt like an illusion—a chemical trick that clouds judgment and fades with time.

Six years later, we found ourselves back at Shelly’s, though much had changed. Paul, the old barista, was gone, replaced by Carl. Lucia, the shy cashier, had transformed into a goth who owned her identity with confidence. Fayth was still Fayth, but that day, she seemed nervous. She tucked her hair behind her ear and bit her bottom lip, a habit I’d long noticed.

"I’ve been meaning to tell you something," she said. Her voice quivered slightly, though she tried to mask it with a smile. "I wanted to think it through, but thinking isn’t really my style. You’re the thinker, Harry. Me? I’m more of a doer. And Harry, sometimes you have to turn off your brain and just listen to your heart."

I opened my mouth to respond, but she continued. "I love you, Harry. And I think you love me too. I can’t wait anymore. So, what do you say? Will you go out with me?"

Two options. Yes or no. Each with a cascade of consequences. My mind, trained to analyze every possibility, went into overdrive. Did I love her? Or was it dopamine playing its temporary tricks? Could we be happy together? Or would we risk ruining the friendship that had become my anchor? My logic screamed at me to think it through, to weigh every outcome, but Fayth’s words echoed: Sometimes you have to turn off your brain.

I looked at her, at the hope in her eyes and the way her hand rested lightly on the table, as if waiting for me to take it. But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. All I could see were the infinite possibilities, the myriad ways this could go wrong. "I don’t know what to say, Fayth," I finally whispered. "I’d have to—"

"Think about it?" she interrupted, her voice tinged with disappointment. She smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "I’m leaving, Harry. I got a job in Austria. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. But I needed to know if there’s a reason to stay."

Her words hit me like a freight train. Austria. She was leaving. I wanted to stop her, to say something, anything, to make her stay. But the words lodged in my throat. She waited a moment longer, then stood, her bag slung over her shoulder.

"Goodbye, Harry," she said, her voice soft but final. And then she was gone.

I never went to the airport to see her off. Shelly later told me that Fayth arrived safely and was thriving in her new life. She even offered to show me pictures of Fayth’s studio, but I declined. I couldn’t bear to see her smiling in a life that no longer included me.

Now, I sit alone in the same coffee shop, staring at the black coffee in front of me. It’s Fayth’s favorite—an Affogato. I never liked it, but I order it anyway, as if the taste will somehow bring me closer to her. My thoughts spiral. Did I love her? Could I have made her stay? Would we have been happy? Or would our love have faded, like all the others I’d convinced myself were real?

I’ll never know. All I’m left with are the possibilities, infinite and unrelenting. I hope she’s happy. I hope she finds someone who can say the words I couldn’t. And as for me, I’m still here, trapped in the endless labyrinth of choices I’ll never make.