He Thought I Was Finally Learning I Was Already Leaving Novels & Stories

But he had already decided I was absurd to him. And so, I walked away, leaving behind the remnants of a dream that had shattered before it even had the chance to begin.

"You probably don't feel the same way, I am just fooling myself?" And just like that he left before I was able to say anything. What the heck!

What happened to all the things he said about not being able to survive if he lost me? My stomach churns at the thought, my instincts kicking in and telling me that something is going on that he didn’t talk about. Is it something important? Is it the reason he let me go? I’m leaving tomorrow… Leaving tomorrow… Leaving… I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the words, but they continue, echoing over and over and over until I can’t think of anything else. He’s leaving.

He already knew I hadn’t. He didn’t speak. Neither did I. He didn’t step forward. Didn’t blink. He just stood in the doorway, as if maybe the doorframe was the only thing holding him up. Then finally, he said quietly: “I told myself I wouldn’t come back unless I meant it.” A pause. “And I do. Every word. Every step that brought me here.” I stayed still. Arms crossed, heart loud. “You already left,” I said. “I know.” “You said you’d wait.”

Then he's gone, leaving me alone with my shattered breathing and the terrible knowledge that I'm not nearly as over him as I thought I was. Not even close.

All my life, the only thing I knew how to do so well was running away, but not anymore. I had to fight for what was mine. I dug my teeth into my lower lip until I could taste blood coming out of it. “I shouldn’t have left.” He tilted his head to the side, a shrug following. “What else do you have to say?” “Umm,” My brain chose that moment to stop its primary function of interpreting and delivering words to my mouth because all I could do was stand there and gape at him. “I’ll be on my way.”

Act proper. But as I drove away, the echo of him stayed on my skin. And I knew the truth, This wasn’t the end. It never would be.

“why wouldn't I?” “But you told me to leave.” My voice was thin, and weak. I watched something dart in his eyes, but it was the truth. His jaw tightened, and he closed his eyes for a moment, like he couldn’t bear to hear those words from me again. “I was wrong.” The words hung in the air between us, sharp and raw. “I was angry. At myself. At the situation. I thought sending you away would protect you. I didn’t mean a goddamn word of it.”

People always think leaving is freedom. They forget it’s also a wound the kind that keeps bleeding, no matter how far you run. I left him on a Tuesday. The sky was the same color as the ocean before a storm, and he was standing by the window, saying nothing, like silence could save us. Maybe part of me hoped he’d stop me. That he’d finally fight for something. For us. But he just looked away, and that was how I knew it was over.

I grabbed the tape, sealing the box shut. The sound echoed lightly in the room. Final. Done. I stepped back, looking at everything one more time. Not with sadness. Not with regret. Just… understanding. This wasn’t the end of my story. It was just the first place I learned how to begin.