chapter 7: Dinner with Thomas

Thomas had chosen a restaurant Amelia could never afford on her own salary.

The moment she walked in, she felt out of place. The lights were dim and warm, candles flickered on every table, and soft jazz played in the background. It was the kind of place where couples leaned close and held hands, where laughter was quiet and intimate.

Amelia looked down at her dress. It was her best one, a simple blue dress she had bought two years ago for a wedding. Her shoes pinched at the toes because she had walked too much that day. She felt like a child playing dress-up in her mother's clothes.

"You look lovely," Thomas said when he saw her. And he meant it. His eyes were warm and familiar, the same eyes that had looked at her every day in university.

Thomas was safe. He had always been safe. He remembered that she hated sweet cocktails and always ordered lemon water instead. He remembered that she always wanted a window seat because she liked watching people walk past. He remembered how she took her coffee, how she laughed when she was nervous, how she always tucked her hair behind her ear when she was thinking.

For almost an hour, she could breathe. They talked about university, about lecturers who never marked scripts on time, about the final year project where she had to do all the research because Thomas always left everything to the last minute. They laughed until her stomach hurt, and for a moment she remembered why she had once thought she could love him.

Then the laughter faded, and the table went quiet.

Thomas leaned forward, his hand inching across the white tablecloth until it was close to hers.

"I've missed this," he said softly, his voice serious now. "I've missed you, Amelia. More than I expected to."

Her heart started pounding hard against her ribs.

He continued, his eyes never leaving hers. "Since university ended, I have dated other people. I tried to move on. But no one made me feel the way you did. When I heard you moved to the city, I thought maybe... maybe life was giving us a second chance."

The air felt heavy.

"Amelia, you have spent your whole life taking care of everyone else," he said. "Your sister Sophie, your mother before she died, everyone at work. You carry so much on your small shoulders. When does someone take care of you? When does someone ask how you are doing?"

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, because those words hurt. They hurt because they were true. And because Daniel had asked her the same thing last week, but in a different way.

Daniel had said it like a challenge: You don't have to earn every kindness, Amelia.

Thomas was saying it like a promise: Let me be the one to take care of you.

She looked at his hand, so close to hers, and she knew that if she let him hold her hand, she would be choosing a life that was easy and kind and predictable.

She gently pulled her hand back.

"Thomas," she whispered, her voice breaking a little. "You are a good man. You have always been good to me. In university, you were my best friend. You are still my friend. But I don't want to lie to you because I am scared to be alone or because I am tired."

His face fell. Just a little, but she saw it — the hope in his eyes dying out slowly.

"I understand," he whispered, trying to smile but failing. "I just... I still care about you, Amelia. Even after university ended, I never really stopped caring."

"I know," she said, tears now rolling down her cheeks before she could stop them. "And I am so sorry. You deserve a woman who looks at you and sees her future. Not a woman who looks at you and thinks of another man while sitting across from you."

Thomas stared at her for a long second, then nodded slowly. He understood what she meant, even if she didn't say the name.

On the bus ride home, rain hammered against the windows. The city lights were blurred by water. Amelia pressed her forehead to the cold glass and let the tears come.

Thomas deserved better. He deserved a love that was whole, not half-hearted.

Her phone buzzed in her bag.

She wiped her eyes and looked.

Daniel: Are you home safe? It's raining heavily tonight. I saw the forecast.

She stared at the message. Eight simple words. Why was he checking on her? Why did her heart beat faster for this one message than it had for an entire candlelit dinner with a man who had loved her for years?

She didn't reply immediately. Her emotions were too confused, too messy.

And across the city, in a quiet apartment that was too big for one person, Daniel was staring at his phone, waiting for a reply that wasn't coming, his chest tight with a feeling he didn't have a name for yet.