What remains

I am now alone and it’s hard to imagine that not long ago I wasn’t. I take a deep breath to let that sink in. “Even her scent is gone…," I mutter. This ring is the only proof of the time we spent together. I touch it with my right hand, just to make sure it is still there. Of course it is.

I should take it off. There is no doubt in my mind that she did the same. I gently try to pull it, but it won’t budge. My hands are so swollen that I can barely recognize them as my own. The last couple of days have left me without any purpose, desire, or motivation; however, they have also left me with a gut full of junk food and energy drinks. I should go buy some apples or something when I get home from work. As for the ring, I am sure it will come off with some soap.

In the subway, with nothing better to do, I examine the ring. To be honest, there isn’t much to examine, as it is just a simple, smooth piece of metal. We had pennies in our name when we got married, and the quality of the ring reflects that. Nevertheless, it did its job in reminding me of our vows, which is more than her ring did for her. The rumble of the subway car became muffled and I started seeing red. If I take off my ring I won’t be any better than her, so no, I won’t be using any soap to get rid of it. I will take it with me to my grave.

Proud of my resolution, I smirk. This ring is a testament to my devotion to a person that didn’t deserve it, a symbol of my mental fortitude and resilience. Many would have given up in my situation, but not me. I am the only person on this planet capable of bearing the weight of this ring. Not the bearded man in front of me, wearing a black ring with a skull engraved on it, whose biggest concern is likely which sticker to put on his motorbike next. Not the elderly woman beside him, who probably didn’t earn the ring on her finger—she simply accepted it from her mother, who received it from her own mother, and so on. And certainly not the woman next to me, wearing a cat ears ring, who probably still thinks of herself as a cute, innocent princess, without a care in the world.

“Do you like it? My sister gave it to me.”

“What?” I blink, startled out of my thoughts.

“The ring,” she says, holding it up. “I thought you were looking at it.”

I raise my eyes from the ring on her hand to her face. She smiles at me with both her mouth and her eyes, and a wave of guilt washes over me for the thoughts that had previously crossed my mind. I mumble an excuse, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was staring. Yes, it’s a cute ring.”

“I know, right? My sister is the best! Your ring isn’t bad either. How long have you been married?”

“I’m divorced… I tried to take it off, but it’s stuck on my finger.”

“Really? Have you tried using soap?”

For some strange reason, I lied about the ring. What was once determination and pride in wearing it has now transformed into shame. I’m not a martyr fighting for justice and moral values; I’m just a petty guy who has been cheated on. This girl has started a conversation with me, something that has never happened to me before. Until she gets off at her station, I should maintain the facade of a successful man who has moved on from his past relationship.

But it seemed like her station wasn’t coming anytime soon, so we just kept talking. We discussed our lives, our dreams, the weather, politics, and her dog named Dog, who died when she was 10. I almost missed my station. As I stepped out of the subway, my mind was still processing what had just happened and how I had managed to get a date with her today at eight o’clock.

In my chair at work, I keep going through the events in the morning. This woman, a complete stranger, started a conversation with me about rings. Not even in high school did anything like this ever happen to me. Who is she? Her name is Claire. What does she look like? I try to remember her face, but her features shift and change in my mind. She has pitch-black hair, with the tips dyed red. Her brown eyes (or were they green?) are whimsical and kind, sometimes brushed by her long eyelashes. When she laughed, small dimples appeared on her lightly powdered cheeks, and her full lips revealed white teeth that shone like pearls. She is one of the most beautiful women I have ever met, maybe even more beautiful than the woman who broke my heart.

No, she wasn’t as beautiful as her. Even if she were, why am I so excited? Beautiful women break hearts and cloud minds; that’s a well-known fact. Oh, Claire, you tried to fool me, but I have learned my lesson. Maybe you think it’s funny to mock me, to ridicule my past relationship. Perhaps you’re on the phone with your sister right now, laughing about how you toyed with the feelings of a stranger you met in the subway.

I caress the smooth surface of my ring. I was wrong about it; it’s not a curse I have to bear, but a blessing that has opened my eyes to the harsh reality. I won’t make the same mistake I did before. The mirror on the wall of my cubicle reflects the unsightly image of a worn-out man with bags under his red, bloodshot eyes, wearing a crumpled gray shirt. Me. There is no way that Claire is interested in someone like me. Years from now, when I will be rich and fit, she will regret pretending to like me.

With that in mind, a few hours later, I was standing in front of the cafe where we agreed to meet. I don’t think she will show up, but on the off chance that she does, I want to tell her personally that her tricks didn’t work on me. I rehearse again the words I am going to tell her. Just thinking about how she will try to make a sloppy excuse puts a smile on my face.

“Sorry I’m late. Did you wait long?”

My heart races as I turn toward her voice. There she is, smiling just as she did this morning. She was wearing a simple white t-shirt and black jeans that somehow make her look effortlessly stunning. Her eyes were green after all. I open my mouth to say everything I had on my mind.

“No, not at all,” I manage to say, my voice steadier than I feel. “You look beautiful.”

This was all I could think about. I can feel the eyes of the people around us, so I wasn’t the only one thinking that; I scold myself for feeling a rush of pride. I fidget, not knowing what to do. I wasn’t expecting her to show up, and now that she has, it seemed like a waste to ruin everything. In response to my compliment, she grabbed my hand, our rings clinking together. Even if it ends up being just an elaborated joke, it wouldn’t hurt anyone if I play along for now.

We enter the cafe and find a table in the back, next to the window. I tried to guess what she’ll order (my money was on herbal tea), and to my surprise she picks my favorite beverage from the bar — salted caramel hot chocolate. I can’t help but smile at the unexpected connection. We sat down, slowly drinking from our cups. The subtle aroma of her perfume, mingling with the rich scent of coffee and chocolate, warps around me. It feels like the most beautiful scent I have ever encountered. I know I shouldn’t let my guard down, but for the first time in a long while, I feel a warm tingling in my chest.

As we talked, I realize I was wrong about her not having a care in the world. She studied in Germany, and came home to be close to her parents and her sister, leaving behind a sure job and future. For a long time, she struggled to make ends meet. Even after turning a corner, problems continued to arise, culminating in her breakup with her boyfriend of a year and a half. Her bottom lip started trembling slightly, and she tried covering it with a smile. In that moment, I wanted to comfort her, to hug her, to hold her hand again. I instinctively touch the ring on my finger. “Don’t worry.” I thought to myself, “I only pity her.”

After finishing our drinks, we went for a walk. With every step we took, the tingling in my chest was slowly getting warmer and warmer. In fact, only after seeing Claire breathe on her hands did I realize how cold the night had become. Feeling a rush of adrenaline, I asked her if we should go back to my place to watch a movie. These words surprised the both of us, but after a second of silence, she nodded. My chest was now burning.

Of course, we didn’t watch any movie. Wide awake, I lay in bed looking at the ceiling for what felt like centuries. My heart was beating loud like war drums, and I was hoping it wouldn’t wake Claire. I look left, where she was sleeping soundly with her head on my arm. It was starting to hurt, so I gently pull it out from beneath her. The ring was looking at me with disdain.

Claire’s feelings were sincere: for some weird reason, she really liked me. Claire’s hair was strewn across the pillow, the tips lit red up by the moon rays coming through the window. She was tucked into the blanket, her nose buried deep within its folds. I knew I loved her. It’s the same realization I had 5 years ago, in the same bed, looking at a similar face. Life can’t get any better than this moment. That is why I shouldn’t try holding on to it.

The line between happiness and misery is very thin, and it’s impossible to not cross it as time passes. She will eventually stop liking me, and I can’t bear the thought of someday hating her because of it. A tear tries rolling down my cheek, but I brush it in a hurry. I’m sorry, Claire. I love you too much to let you become a piece of metal on my finger.

Come morning, I told her. She laughs, but my eyes are empty, so her smile disappears. She doesn’t say a word, and the silence hurts like knives. She gets out of the bed, gets dressed and opens the door.

“Goodbye!” she says, closing the door on her way out.

I don’t get to respond to her. I know I should go after her, to apologize, at least to walk her to the station, but my legs don’t listen to me. I continue to sit in bed, half covered in blankets. Eventually, I get up and drag my legs to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I have the same bloodshot eyes I had the other day. I rinse them, I wash my teeth and, after a short hesitation, I soap my hands. I gently tug at the ring, but it won’t budge. I try again. Nothing. I pull harder, and the ring falls in the sink with a clink.

I pick it up and examine it’s rough surface. The fall in the sink added another scratch on its side. I smile bitterly and put it back on my finger. I will take it with me to my grave.

I should get ready for work. Back in the bedroom, I pick up the shirt laying on the floor and smell it, to check if it’s still usable. I pull up my jeans, put on socks and a tie. On the nightstand, next to my watch, it’s a cat ears ring. This ring is the only proof of the time we spent together. I am now alone and it’s hard to imagine that not long ago I wasn’t. I take a deep breath to let that sink in. “Even her scent is gone…," I mutter.