Chapter 6 – The Message That Shook Her

I was halfway across the world when his name lit up on my screen.

It was late — or maybe early — I couldn’t tell. Jet-lagged, sleepless, stretched between time zones and emotions I hadn’t fully unpacked. I was sitting alone in a quiet café in New Zealand, sipping tea that had long gone cold, writing in my journal like I did every morning.

And then there it was.

Him.

A simple message. Just two words.

“Miss you.”

My heart didn’t race — it dropped.

Because no matter how far I had come, no matter how long I’d been gone… a part of me still wasn’t ready to see his name.

It had been two full months of no contact. Two months of silence, solitude, growth. I thought I was past it — the pain, the pull, the illusion of him.

But that message cracked open a part of me I thought I’d already sealed.

I stared at the screen for ten minutes, just breathing.

I didn’t cry.

I didn’t smile.

I just… remembered.

Remembered the nights I begged for that message and never got it.

Remembered all the times I felt disposable, quieted, confused.

And now that I was gone — now that I’d stopped chasing, stopped needing — he wanted to reach back out.

Of course he did.

That’s how it always works with people who only miss you when they can no longer control you.

I showed the message to my friend.

“Are you going to reply?” she asked, carefully.

“I don’t know,” I whispered, though I already did.

A part of me still wanted to believe he meant it. That maybe, just maybe, he had changed.

Not for me — but for himself. For real.

Because isn’t that the dream we hold on to? That the person who broke us will come back better… so the pain will feel worth it?

I replied the next day.

It wasn’t emotional. It wasn’t even long.

“Hope you’re doing okay.”

That’s all.

No hearts. No memories. Just enough to acknowledge the message, but not the history behind it.

Still, it opened the door.

He answered within minutes.

“Not really. Everything’s felt off since you left.”

I read it once. Twice. I wanted to feel satisfied. I wanted to feel like I’d won.

But all I felt was tired.

Over the next few days, the messages trickled in like rain. Light. Sporadic. Familiar.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

“Still wear that hoodie you left.”

“Wish I could talk to you face to face.”

I didn’t know what to say.

Because I didn’t know what I felt.

Was it longing?

Closure?

The last test before letting go for good?

The night he called, I didn’t answer.

But I listened to the voicemail.

His voice was softer than I remembered.

Less cocky. More careful.

“Hey… just wanted to hear you. You don’t have to call me back. I just… I miss you. I miss us.”

That last line hit something in me I wasn’t ready for.

Because I missed us, too.

Not the toxicity. Not the heartbreak.

But the memories. The way it felt at the beginning. The idea of what we could’ve been.

I didn’t want to go back.

But I wasn’t ready to move forward either.

So I stayed in the middle.

Floating.

The messages kept coming.

Eventually, I agreed to see him.

Not because I thought we’d get back together.

But because I needed to face it — the ghost, the history, the part of myself that still wondered “what if?”

I told myself it was just for closure.

Just to make peace with the story.

But a part of me still hoped he’d look me in the eyes and say something that made it all make sense.

A part of me still hoped for redemption.

The morning I flew home, I felt different.

I wasn’t nervous. I wasn’t giddy.

I was calm.

Grounded.

Like no matter what happened — whether he changed or didn’t — I’d be okay.

I had already survived the worst part: losing myself.

Now, I was coming back whole.

And if he didn’t see that —

if he didn’t meet me where I was now —

then it wasn’t mine to carry anymore.

He messaged me the night I landed.

“Let me see you.”

And I said yes.