A Table For Two, Decisions For One

Owen sat down at the small, square table in the corner of the restaurant, its polished wood gleaming under the soft amber glow of a pendant light above. Across from him, Maya folded her hands, her eyes scanning the menu as though it contained all the answers she was looking for. But the food didn’t matter tonight. The real menu lay unspoken between them—the decisions they had to make, the paths they could no longer avoid. 

He sighed, pushing a stray curl of hair away from his forehead. “You’re still thinking about the apartment, aren’t you?”

Maya set the menu down slowly, her dark eyes meeting his. “I just don’t know, Owen. It’s everything I’ve wanted, but... I don’t know.”

“You don’t know, or you’re afraid?” he asked, though the line between those two emotions was a thin one for her. “Because this is what we planned for, isn’t it? You and me. Finally our own place. No more couch-surfing, no more crashing with friends, just a home. Together.”

She exhaled, fiddling with the napkin on her lap. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” he murmured, his gaze softening as the waiter approached and poured water into their glasses. They ordered, but as soon as the waiter disappeared, the air between them thickened again with unspoken tension.

Maya glanced out the window, where the city lights twinkled beneath the early evening sky. “It’s a big step, Owen. Signing a lease is like... like tying ourselves down. And if it doesn’t work—”

“Why wouldn’t it work?” he cut in, but his voice wasn’t sharp, only weary. They had danced around this issue for months, each avoiding it in their own way. “We’ve been together for four years, Maya. We’ve been talking about this since the beginning. And now that we’re here, you’re getting cold feet?”

“I’m not getting cold feet,” she said, but her tone was defensive, a clear sign that she was. “I’m just being realistic. You know how much the deposit is. And rent. What if—”

“What if what? What if I lose my job? What if you decide you want to leave? What if an asteroid hits the Earth?” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “We can’t live in fear of ‘what ifs’ forever.”

Maya’s jaw tightened, and she took a sip of her water to stall for time. “It’s not fear. It’s practicality.”

“Is it, though?” Owen countered. “Or is it just another way of avoiding making a decision?”

Her silence was the answer.

They both sat back, and Owen’s gaze drifted toward the table beside them. A couple sat close, their heads bent toward one another, murmuring quietly, sharing secrets or maybe making plans for their future. He envied them. He and Maya should be those people. They should be planning their next steps, dreaming about how they’d decorate the new apartment, which restaurants they’d try in the neighborhood, maybe even considering a future bigger than just the two of them.

Instead, they were here, stuck.

“I don’t want to make you feel pressured,” he said, softening his tone again. “I just don’t understand why you’re hesitating. What changed?”

Maya’s fingers traced the edge of her glass as if searching for the words there. “I guess it just... hit me. How much this means. How much of a commitment it is. I thought I was ready, but I don’t know if I am anymore.”

Owen’s heart sank. “What’s really going on?”

She looked at him then, her eyes filled with a sadness that wasn’t just about the apartment. “I’m scared, Owen. What if we move in, and everything changes? What if we’re not as good as we think we are? What if we ruin this?”

“Owen,” he said gently, reaching across the table to take her hand. “Everything changes. But I thought we wanted that. I thought we wanted to grow, together.”

“I do,” she whispered, but the uncertainty in her voice lingered like a shadow.

“Then why does it feel like you’re pulling away?” His voice cracked at the edges, a betrayal of the emotions he had been trying so hard to keep in check.

She swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “I love you, Owen. I do. But... there’s a part of me that’s terrified that I’m not enough for you. That I’ll fail at this.”

His thumb brushed the back of her hand in small, soothing circles. “You’re more than enough, Maya. And it’s not about being perfect. It’s about being together. Figuring it out. Isn’t that what relationships are?”

She nodded, though her gaze flickered down to her lap again.

“Listen,” he said, his voice steady now. “We don’t have to rush into anything. If you need more time, we’ll take it. But I need to know that you’re still in this with me. That you still want this.”

Her eyes, filled with both fear and hope, met his. “I do want it. I’m just... scared of what comes next.”

“Then we’ll face it together,” Owen said. “One step at a time. No pressure.”

Maya squeezed his hand, and for the first time that evening, she smiled—small, tentative, but real. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For understanding.”

Their food arrived, but neither of them cared about it now. They had said the things that mattered, the things that had been left unsaid for too long. 

As they ate, the weight that had been pressing down on them lightened. Maybe nothing was certain, and maybe fear would always lurk at the edges of their decisions, but they were still choosing each other, despite it all.

---

Months later, the memory of that dinner echoed in Owen’s mind as he sat alone at the same restaurant, the same table. His fingers traced the empty space across from him where Maya had sat. Their conversation had given him hope, a fragile thread he had clung to for weeks, but in the end, it hadn’t been enough. 

She had left a few weeks after they’d signed the lease. Quietly, one morning while he was at work, she packed her things and disappeared. Her note, left on the kitchen counter, had been short but devastating. *I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. I thought I could, but I was wrong. It’s not you. It’s me. I hope you can forgive me.*

For a long time, Owen had blamed himself. He replayed that dinner in his mind, wondering if he had pushed her too hard, if he had ignored the warning signs. But over time, he realized that Maya’s fear had been more than just about moving in together. It had been about something deeper, something neither of them could have fixed.

Now, sitting alone at that familiar table, Owen smiled sadly. Their relationship had ended, but it hadn’t been a failure. They had tried, and sometimes that was all you could do. He glanced out the window, where the city lights flickered beneath the night sky, and raised his glass in a silent toast. To what they had shared, and to the future he was still figuring out. Alone, but not broken. 

Maybe, he thought, this was just the next step.