The second chance that time stole

I stood in the kitchen, my arms wrapped tightly around myself as Alan leaned against the doorframe. His suitcase sat beside him like an exclamation point at the end of a story I hadn't written.

He wasn't looking at me, of course. He hadn't looked at me for months, not really.

"I'm sorry, Maya," he said softly, but it wasn't soft enough to mask the detachment in his voice.

"It's just…", he sighed.

"We've been drifting apart for a long time. You deserve more than this."

I barked out a laugh, sharp and bitter, surprising even myself.

"Oh, that's rich. Don't pretend this is about me. You cheated, Alan. Let's not sugarcoat it with your 'noble' excuses. You threw everything we built away—for what? A twenty-five-year-old?”

His jaw tightened, and for a second, he looked like he might argue.

Instead, he just sighed, the way you might sigh at a child who doesn't understand the rules of a game. That sigh sent a spark of rage through me.

"I'm not fighting with you," he said, finally meeting my eyes, though he was dull and tired.

"This isn't good for either of us. I'm leaving because it's time to move on."

"And that's supposed to make it better? That's supposed to erase what you did?"

My voice broke on the last word, and I hated that he still had the power to make me feel small.

Alan didn't respond. He just picked up his suitcase, lingered momentarily, and walked out the door.

The sound of it closing behind him was deafening, and for a moment, I stood there in the silence, unable to move. Then, as if on autopilot, I turned toward the counter, desperate for something to steady myself—a glass of wine, a distraction, anything.

That's when I saw the envelope.

It was sitting inside the door as if waiting for this exact moment. My name was written on it, and the ink was slightly smudged.

I stared at it, my stomach tightening with an inexplicable sense of foreboding.

My fingers trembled as I tore it open. The first line hit me like a punch to the chest.

Maya, I owe you an apology.

One I should've given you a long time ago.

I sank into a chair before my legs gave out. It couldn't be. But the name at the bottom of the page proved otherwise.

Ryan.

Ryan.

The boy who had swept me off my feet in college with his crooked smile and guitar. The boy who had told me he loved me under the stars one night, only to disappear without a word weeks later—the boy whose silence had taught me my first lesson in heartbreak.

I clutched the letter tightly, my breath catching as I read his words.

I was young and selfish and didn't know how to handle what we had. So, I ran. I've spent years regretting it, and I need you to know how sorry I am.

You didn't deserve that, Maya.

You were extraordinary, and I was too much of a coward to see it through.

Tears blurred the words on the page, but I kept reading.

I've followed your career from afar. You've done incredible things, just like

I always knew you would. I don't expect forgiveness. I just… needed you to know.

I put the letter down, my hands shaking as I stared at it. All the memories

I had buried came rushing back—the late-night talks, the plans we'd made, the way I had stayed up for weeks waiting for a call that never came.

And now, two decades later, he decides to apologize?

I laughed through the tears, the sound harsh and raw.

"Unbelievable," I muttered to the empty room.

I looked out the window, catching a glimpse of Alan's car disappearing down the street. My marriage had just imploded, my life was in pieces, and now this?

Part of me wanted to rip the letter in half, to throw it into the fire and let it burn along with the memories. But another part of me remembered how it felt to be young and hopeful. To believe in love.

I reread the letter, but it was slower this time. With each word, the anger ebbed, replaced by something softer. Ryan's apology couldn't fix what had happened—not back then. But it felt… honest. And maybe, just maybe, it was the closure I didn't realize I still needed.

I set the letter down and reached for my phone. My fingers hovered over the screen, debating whether to reply.

When I finally started typing, the words came quickly.

Ryan, thank you for your letter. It's been a long time, and I've carried that hate for years, but reading your words… I think I can finally let it go. I forgive you. And I hope you've found the courage you didn't have back then.

I hit send before I could overthink it.

I felt like I could breathe again for the first time in months. Alan was gone. Ryan was part of my past.

And me?

I was still here, standing, moving forward. And that was enough.

As soon as I hit send, my phone buzzed almost immediately. I glanced at the screen, startled. It was him.

Ryan.

A message popped up: Maya, thank you. I can't believe you even replied. I know I have no right to ask, but… could we talk? Just for a few minutes?

My thumb hovered over the screen. A phone call? After all these years?

I stared at the message, my mind racing. But before I could talk myself out of it, I typed back a simple yes.

Almost instantly, my phone rang. His name flashed on the screen, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. I hadn't heard his voice in over 20 years. What could he possibly say now?

I swiped to answer, my hand trembling slightly.

"Hello?"

"Maya." His voice was unsteady as if he wasn't sure he had the right to say my name.

"Hi. Wow, you actually picked up. I—I wasn't sure you would."

"Neither was I," I said, my tone softer than I expected.

There was a pause, and I could almost hear him trying to gather his thoughts.

"I don't even know where to start. I've played this conversation out in my head a thousand times, but now that it's real… I just… I'm sorry. For everything."

His words tumbled out quickly, almost nervously, like he was afraid I'd hang up at any second. And yet, as he spoke, something inside me shifted.

The years fell away, and suddenly, I wasn't sitting in my kitchen anymore. I was 21 again, sitting cross-legged on the dorm room floor, laughing at one of his terrible jokes, feeling the kind of hope and excitement that only exists in the beginnings of something beautiful.

"Ryan," I interrupted gently.

"Breathe. It's okay."

He let out a shaky laugh.

"Sorry. I'm just… I can't believe I'm talking to you. You sound exactly the same."

"So do you," I admitted, surprising myself with the warmth in my voice.

"Though I'm guessing neither of us look quite the same anymore."

He chuckled, and for a moment, it felt like no time had passed. We fell into a rhythm, talking about everything and nothing—memories from college, the lives we'd built since, the things we'd lost along the way.

I found myself smiling, even laughing, and I couldn't remember the last time a conversation had felt this easy, this alive.

And then he asked the question.

"Maya," he said hesitantly, "would you… would you meet me? I know it's a lot to ask, but I'd really like to see you."

I froze, my mind suddenly snapping back to the present. What was I doing? Alan had just walked out the door. My marriage was in shambles.

And now Ryan, the man who had once shattered my heart, wanted to meet up like no time had passed?

"I don't know," I said slowly. "This is all… a lot."

"I understand," he said quickly. "You don't have to decide now. Or at all. I just… I'd really like the chance to apologize in person. No pressure, I promise."

The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. I hesitated, chewing on my bottom lip. Maybe it was the weight of the day, or maybe it was the way he had sounded when he said my name—like it still meant something to him after all this time.

"Okay," I said finally. "One coffee. That's it."

His relief was palpable.

"Thank you, Maya. I'll make it worth your time. Just tell me when and where."

As I hung up the phone, I leaned back in my chair, my heart racing. I had no idea what I was walking into, but for the first time in a long time, I felt something other than sadness or anger.

I felt alive.

My nerves were a tangled mess as I walked into the small, sunlit café we'd agreed on. But the moment I saw him, standing by the window, hands in his pockets, smiling like no time had passed—all my worries melted away.

"Wow," he said as I approached, his eyes lighting up. "You look… incredible."

I laughed, feeling a blush creep up my neck.

"Flattery already? We haven't even ordered yet."

"Flattery?" he grinned, pulling out my chair.

"Just stating facts."

The conversation flowed effortlessly, just as it had on the phone. We laughed about old college memories, swapped stories about our careers, and shared moments of silence that weren't awkward but comfortable.

At one point, as Ryan leaned in with a teasing smirk, I couldn't help but ask, "So… no wife? No kids?"

He shook his head, a shadow briefly crossing his face before he smiled again.

"Nope. Never found the right person. Or maybe I did, and I was just too stupid to see it."

His words hung in the air, charged with meaning, but he quickly changed the subject. He kept the mood light, teasing me and making me laugh until my cheeks hurt.

When lunch ended, he insisted on walking me to my door. Standing on my porch, he looked at me with a boyish charm that made my heart ache in a way she hadn't felt in years.

"I had a great time, Maya," he said softly.

"Can I see you again?"

I hesitated for a moment, but the answer was clear. "I'd like that," I said, smiling.

My second date was nothing like the casual café lunch.

Ryan surprised me by booking a table at a Michelin-starred restaurant, something he admitted was "a little over the top" but said that I deserved it.

The ambience was magical—soft lighting, live music, and the faint scent of roses in the air.

I felt out of place at first, but Ryan's easy charm quickly put me at ease.

"I'm glad you agreed to this," he said, raising his glass to hers. "It's nice to see you happy."

I tilted my head, studying him. "And what about you? Are you happy, Ryan?"

He hesitated, his smile faltering for just a second. "Happier than I've been in a long time," he said, his voice quieter.

We talked, laughed, and shared bites of each other's meals, and for a moment, I forgot all about Alan and the heartache that had plagued my mind for so long.

Then, suddenly, Ryan's face paled. He gripped the edge of the table, his fork clattering to the floor.

"Ryan?" I panicked.

"Are you okay?"

But before he could answer, his eyes fluttered closed, and he collapsed.

***

I paced around the sterile hospital waiting room, her heart hammering in her chest.

Finally, a doctor approached her.

"Are you Maya?"

"Yes," I said quickly. "Is he okay? What happened?"

The doctor's face was kind but sombre.

"I don't know if you know, but Ryan has leukaemia. It's advanced, stage four. I'm sorry if this is news to you."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. "What?" I whispered.

My voice breaking. "No. He… he didn't tell me."

"He's known for some time," the doctor said gently.

"We've been managing it, but his condition is worsening. Tonight's episode was likely due to low blood counts. He's stable now, but…"

The doctor didn't need to finish the sentence. The weight of it settled heavily on my chest.

When I was finally allowed into Ryan's room, I found him awake, looking pale but still managing a weak smile.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Don't you 'hey' me," I snapped, though my voice cracked.

"You didn't think I deserved to know? What were you thinking,

Ryan?"

He sighed, his eyes filled with regret. "I didn't want to scare you away. I just… I wanted to see you. To make things right. I didn't think we'd… I didn't think it would feel like this."

"Feel like what?" I asked, tears spilling over.

"Like it mattered," he said simply.

"Like I mattered to you."

I sat down beside him, taking his hand in mine.

"You do matter, Ryan. You always have. And I'm not going anywhere."

For the first time that night, he let himself cry, and I held his hand tightly, silently vowing that whatever time we had left, I wouldn't waste a second of it.

He swallowed hard, and for a moment, his voice faltered, but his eyes never left mine.

"I don't have much time left. A few months at best. I've made peace with that. But there's one thing I want—one thing I've wanted since the moment I saw you again."

My chest tightened as his words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. I held my breath, willing myself not to crumble.

"My dying wish," he said softly, his lips trembling, "is to spend the rest of my time with you. Not to make up for the past—I know I can't—but just… to be with you. To laugh with you. To make these days mean something."

Tears blurred my vision, and I had to look away. The ache in my heart was unbearable.

"Ryan," I whispered, my voice breaking.

"I don't know if I can do this. Losing you… I just don't know how."

"I understand," he said quietly, the resignation in his tone piercing.

"I know it's asking too much. But these last few days with you… they've been the happiest I've had in years. I don't want to let that go. I don't want to let you go."

His words cracked something open inside me, something I hadn't realized I'd been holding back.

He wasn't just asking for time—he was asking for meaning. For life. And despite my fear, I couldn't deny him. I couldn't deny myself.

I leaned forward, cupping his face in my hands, feeling the warmth of his skin against my palms. His breath hitched as I looked into his eyes, searching for the courage I thought I'd lost.

"You matter to me, Ryan," I said, my voice steady now. "You always have. And if this is what you want, I'll be here. For all of it."

A tear slipped down his cheek, and a smile—bittersweet, achingly beautiful—spread across his face.

"Thank you, Maya," he whispered.

"You don't know what this means to me."

I shook my head.

"I think I do," I murmured, and before I could second-guess myself, I leaned in.

Our lips met, tentative at first, like we were afraid of the weight of it. But then, the kiss deepened, and time seemed to blur.

In that moment, nothing else existed. Not the hospital walls, not the fear of what was to come, not even the ache in my chest. It was just us, two people trying to hold on to something fleeting and beautiful, something we should have never let slip away.

When we pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, his smile tinged with both sadness and joy.

"For however long we have," he said softly, "I'm yours. I'm sorry for being this selfish."

"And I'm yours. I'm glad I get to have this time with you. Whatever's left of it," I replied, my voice steady now, my heart finally quiet.

As his fingers laced through mine, I felt the certainty of my decision.

Whatever time we had left, we would make it ours.