No Flinching

The Uber eased onto the highway, the air conditioner on full blast to chase off the July heat that clung to everything like a damp second skin. Evelyn peeled the label from a bottle of sparkling water while Aldo tapped through the wedding itinerary on his phone.

“Okay,” he said, angling the screen toward her. “So the white linen welcome dinner is not optional. It’s got three exclamation points and a heart.”

“Classy,” Evelyn murmured. She creased the label between her fingers, then folded it into a tiny triangle. “I hope we’re allowed to sit at our assigned seats and chew with our mouths closed.”

“Chewing’s only allowed if it’s photogenic,” Aldo quipped.

They sat angled slightly toward each other in the back seat, arms touching lightly every time the car swayed. Their silence was the kind that didn’t require explaining. Familiar, frictionless. They’d landed in Seville just twenty minutes ago, and Evelyn still had airplane sleep in her eyes, but her posture never showed it.

Now the city approached in a shimmer of heat and sun washed white stone.

Evelyn squinted at the itinerary. “Do we need a second pair of shoes for the poolside social?”

“I assume they’ll be judging sandal etiquette,” Aldo said. “Arch support is probably gauche.”

“And there’s a dress code for that, too,” she muttered. “All neutrals. God forbid someone wears blue and shatters the illusion.”

“Or plaid. Plaid would be chaos.”

She laughed and gently leaned her head against his shoulder. He tilted his head to meet hers.

“Can you believe they sent out that PDF?” she said.

“Seventeen pages,” Aldo said. “I didn’t even read that much when I bought a car.”

“I mean, really,” she added. “Expecting people to spend thousands to watch them promise not to cheat on each other? In this economy?”

Aldo smirked. “We’re basically paying for the privilege of watching two people enter denial with a drone photographer present.”

“And a flamenco guitarist,” Evelyn said, checking the schedule. “Don’t forget the flamenco guitarist.”

“Ah yes, for ambiance.”

She smiled, resting her water bottle on her thigh. “We’re basically honeymooning for someone else’s wedding. We should invoice them.”

Aldo chuckled and reached over to squeeze her knee.

They enjoyed this. Bouncing jokes, sharing mockery like a love language. It made them feel more solid than they were.

“You know,” Aldo said after a pause, “we could’ve eloped.”

She raised an eyebrow. “We’re not engaged.”

“Still. Hypothetically.”

“And go where? Some postcard town we can’t pronounce?”

“Exactly,” he said. “Send photos from rooftops and make everyone jealous. Claim it was spontaneous and spiritual. Write captions about how love doesn’t follow schedules.”

Evelyn snorted. “Then come home and pretend we didn’t panic about bedbugs or misread the train timetable.”

“I mean… true.”

Their eyes met. They smiled. The moment felt like a memory they were already trying to make.

Outside, the city stretched toward them. Balconies draped in flowers, cobbled alleys glowing gold in the afternoon light. The driver exited the highway and took a sharp turn past a plaza, the streets narrowing as they entered the historic district.

Evelyn dug through her bag for lip balm, smoothing it on. Aldo glanced out the window, watching the buildings rise in soft whites and burnt ochres. The car slowed in front of their boutique hotel, its iron gate cracked open like a waiting mouth.

“We’re really doing this,” he said, smiling as he reached for their bags.

“We are,” Evelyn replied.

They stepped out together, the heat swallowing them instantly. Luggage in hand, matching sunglasses on.

They didn’t hold hands. But they walked in step, in rhythm, in sync, as always.

After dropping their bags and rinsing off the travel, they wandered out for a late lunch. By local standards, it was practically early. The concierge had pointed them toward a small square just east of the hotel, quieter than the tourist-packed streets nearby. No posing for photos, no lines. Just locals, tiled facades, and tables that spilled out beneath citrus trees.

Evelyn and Aldo sat across from each other under a faded umbrella, picking at shared tapas and cooling slowly in the shade. She had cava; he had something dark and local that he chose for the label. They both pretended they weren't too tired to enjoy it.

“You know,” Evelyn said, tipping her glass toward the café awning overhead, “we could just… not go.”

Aldo looked up. “To the wedding?”

“Yeah. Stay here. Wander around. Make up fake lives. Eat our weight in olives.”

He smiled. “That actually sounds like a relationship milestone. Flaking on a wedding we flew across the ocean to attend.”

Evelyn grinned. “It’s the dream.”

A quiet chuckle came from the next table. Not loud enough to interrupt. Just enough to be heard.

They turned.

A woman sat alone, reading a folded Spanish newspaper and drinking espresso in a tiny glass. She looked late 40s, maybe early 50s. Gold earrings. A gauzy scarf tucked casually into the collar of her blouse. Not showy, not plain. Composed.

“Apologies,” she said, smiling as she met Evelyn’s eyes. Her voice was smooth, low. “Escaping is easy. It’s the staying that takes courage.”

Her gaze was calm but steady. Not a stare, exactly, but full attention. She radiated the sort of presence that made people forget what they were just saying.

“You disagree with people skipping weddings?” Aldo asked.

She shrugged, gently. “I don’t judge. I listen. And sometimes I read.”

“Read what?” Evelyn asked. “People?”

The woman smiled again. “Not exactly. I help people see what they’ve been circling. What they already know but haven’t named.”

“Are you a therapist or something?” Aldo asked, half-joking.

“No,” she said. “Though some say I should be.” She glanced at both of them. “I’m Anica. If you’re curious.”

They waited.

“I offer two things,” she said. “One is the path you’re on. Where it leans, how it bends.”

She paused.

“The other is a glimpse. A door that didn’t close all the way.”

Evelyn tilted her head. “You mean… like, the life I didn’t pick?”

“More like the one that still watches you.”

There was something in the way she said it. Not dramatic. Not salesy. Just… true. It should’ve felt strange, but the fact that it didn’t was the strangest part.

Aldo looked at Evelyn. If she was unsure, she kept it to herself.

He leaned forward. “Okay. Let’s try.”

Anica reached into her bag and placed a small mirror on the table. Oval-shaped, slightly scuffed, framed in brushed metal. Ordinary-looking. Then she pulled out a tiny tea light and lit it.

“Write a name,” she said, offering a folded slip of paper. “Or a word. Something unfinished.”

Aldo hesitated. Then wrote. Evelyn couldn’t see what it was, but his handwriting looked different when he passed it back. Anica folded the paper, dropped it into a shallow dish of salt and dried leaves, then turned the mirror to face him.

“Now look.”

He did.

In the reflection: dozens of selves, fading inward like a tunnel. But three layers deep, one looked… still. Not stiff. Just watching. That version of him sat across from someone. A woman just out of focus, her silhouette familiar. She wasn’t speaking. She didn’t need to.

He blinked.

Gone.

His own face stared back again. Neutral, normal. Too normal.

“What did you see?” Evelyn asked.

“Nothing,” Aldo said, a beat too fast.

Anica didn’t speak, but the look she gave them said enough.

“I’m good,” Evelyn added, more firmly than she needed to.

Anica didn’t press. She wrapped the mirror in a cloth and slipped it back into her bag. “The rest always arrives later,” she said, gently. “That’s the way of it.”

Aldo reached for his wallet, half out of reflex. “Do we owe you something?” he asked.

Anica gave a small shake of her head. “I don’t charge for truths people already know.”

Evelyn frowned, hesitant. “But you gave us… something.”

Anica smiled. “If it stays with you, then it was yours all along.”

She sipped the last of her espresso. “Enjoy the wedding,” she added, her tone light again, almost playful. “Or don’t.”

They paid their bill without finishing their drinks.

The sun had shifted by the time they stepped back into the street.

They didn’t speak much on the way back to the hotel.

Aldo carried the folded map the concierge had given them, even though they didn’t need it. Evelyn walked half a step ahead, her sunglasses pushed up in her hair, eyes fixed on something vague in the distance.

At one point, she said, “I’m still not sure what just happened.”

Aldo gave a soft laugh. “Tourist trap with emotional resonance?”

She didn’t smile.

They crossed a narrow bridge, a river slipping slow and quiet beneath them. Street vendors were closing up. A trio of teenagers rode past on bikes, shouting in bursts of Spanish and laughter.

“I didn’t mean for it to get weird,” Aldo said.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her voice was even, but something in it had cooled. He glanced at her, then back at the road ahead.

“I just thought it’d be a gimmick,” he said. “A story to tell. That’s all.”

“Was it?”

He didn’t answer.

They stopped at a small shop near the hotel for bottled water. Evelyn picked up a tin of mints she didn’t need and carried it all the way to the register without speaking. Aldo paid. Neither asked the other what they were thinking.

Back in the room, she sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced her shoes slowly, like she was stalling for time. He flipped through the wedding itinerary again, trying to make sense of the printed grid as if it offered some reassurance.

“You sure you’re up for all of this?” he asked, finally.

Evelyn looked up. “The wedding?”

He nodded.

She paused, then stood. “I think I’m going to head home early. I’ll call the airline tonight.”

Aldo’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re serious?”

“I don’t want to make a thing of it,” she said. “You should still go. It’ll be good for you to be there.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

They didn’t fight. They didn’t accuse or explain. Just let the air settle in the space between them, and neither tried to close it.

The next morning, she went to the airport. She didn’t ask if he’d come down with her. He didn’t ask if she wanted him to.

The room was quiet after she left. The kind of quiet that feels like a sound you’ve learned to ignore. Until it's gone.

Aldo sat for a long time, elbows on his knees, phone loose in his hand. He opened a message thread and started typing.

“Wish you hadn’t left.”

Backspace.

“I’m sorry.”

Backspace.

He locked the screen.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to say. It was that none of it felt like enough. Or maybe it all felt like a reach for control in a moment that needed surrender.

Aldo arrived at the wedding just late enough to avoid the group photos but early enough to get asked, twice, “Hey, where’s Evelyn?” He dodged with half-smiles. “Freshening up,” he said once. “Jet lag,” he said another. Everyone played along, the way people do when they don’t want to poke at something fragile.

He found a spot at the edge of the courtyard and stared into the swirl of other people’s joy. Champagne laughter. Terracotta tiles. The wedding couple radiant with effortlessness, as if love were something that naturally glowed.

He turned toward the bar, trying to will the evening into forward motion, when a familiar voice cut through the hum.

“Is this seat taken, or are you waiting on a better version of me?”

He turned.

Evelyn stood near the hedge, hands clasped lightly in front of her, the edges of her dress fluttering just a little in the breeze.

“You came back?” he asked.

“I didn’t make the flight,” she said. “I mean, I got to the gate. I sat there for a while. Then I came back.”

He searched her face. “Why?”

“I kept thinking about what I might’ve seen if I’d looked into the mirror,” she said. “But I didn’t need to.”

Aldo tilted his head, unsure.

“I saw your face,” she said. “That was enough.”

He exhaled. “I didn’t tell you what I saw.”

She waited.

“It was someone else,” he said quietly. “We were in some little house by the water. There was peace. There was a kind of... effortlessness.”

She sat with that for a second. “And did it feel real?”

He looked past her to the candlelit courtyard. “It did.”

She took a half step closer. “Do you think you want that?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I think part of me does. The part that’s tired. The part that’s afraid I’ll mess this up.”

His words hung there.

“And what does the rest of you think?”

Aldo didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Evelyn smiled gently. Not in victory, not in sadness. Just recognition.

“I think I’ve been so afraid of settling,” she said, “that I forgot how much strength it takes to walk away from something almost right.”

They stood there for a moment. Not quite apart, not quite touching.

“I think we use the jokes to feel like we’re above it all,” she said. “The weddings, the pressure, the... expectations.”

“We are good at mocking things.”

“Yeah,” she said. “But I don’t want us to flinch every time something feels real.”

His voice was quieter this time. “Alright. No flinching.”

The music shifted again, slow and sweeping.

They didn’t move toward the dance floor. Just stood in the soft spill of light from the lanterns above them.

“Do we hug?” he asked, a quiet attempt at levity.

“No. Let’s not soften it.”

She offered her hand instead. He took it, and for a moment it was everything. All the history, the ache, the pull.

And then it wasn’t.

She let go first. “Goodbye, Aldo.”

“Goodbye, Evelyn.”

She turned and walked through the golden haze of candlelight, the sound of music folding gently around her.

And for the first time in a long time, neither of them looked back.