Chapter 6
The Night You Didn't Come
It was cold.
Colder than usual.
The kind of cold that made the air brittle and the silence too loud.
I sat at home longer than I should have. Jacket by the door. Shoes waiting like always. Keys in my pocket already. I had no excuse.
But I didn't go.
I stared at the clock.
10:07.
10:22.
10:39.
Every minute felt like a guilt I couldn't name.
---
I told myself maybe she wouldn't be there tonight.
Maybe she forgot again.
Maybe she wouldn't notice if I didn't show.
But a deeper part of me whispered something else.
What if she remembers… tonight of all nights?
What if something clicks, and I'm not there?
What if she waits?
What if she thinks I gave up?
---
I stayed sitting.
Fists clenched in my hoodie sleeves.
Trying to pretend the ache in my chest was just the cold.
---
But out there, under the same streetlamp —
She sat.
Hood drawn up. Knees hugged close. Headphones around her neck again, even though they were out of battery.
She didn't know why she was there.
She just… was.
Something told her to go. Like a note folded in the pocket of her mind.
It wasn't a voice. It wasn't a face.
It was more like a feeling she didn't have a name for.
But it felt like missing something.
Like remembering the shape of an empty space.
---
She checked the time.
10:48.
Her hands were cold.
She wasn't even sure what she was waiting for.
---
A couple passed by, laughing. She looked down.
A cat crossed the street. She didn't move.
Her eyes stayed on the sidewalk ahead. Watching.
For nothing. For everything.
---
Back at home, I stood up.
Half a step toward the door.
Stopped.
Then sat back down again.
I was scared.
Not of her forgetting.
But of me forgetting.
Forgetting why I kept doing this.
Forgetting that it mattered.
Forgetting that she was more than a routine, more than a ghost I visited every night out of habit.
---
Meanwhile, she stood up. Slowly.
Feet stiff. Knees reluctant.
But something pulled her forward.
She didn't know where she was going.
She just… followed it.
Past the bench.
Past the bakery.
Past the cracked branch.
Every turn felt like a memory scratching at her ribs.
And then she saw it:
My house.
Or at least, a house that made her heart feel too full and too hollow at the same time.
She stopped on the sidewalk.
Looked up at the dark window.
Lights off.
Curtains drawn.
No reason to stop.
No reason to knock.
And yet—
She did.
One, two, three soft knocks.
Then silence.
---
Inside, I didn't move at first.
Thought it was in my head.
But then it came again.
I walked to the door slowly.
And when I opened it—
She was there.
Soaking in moonlight.
Wind in her hair.
Eyes wide with something like fear, something like wonder.
And then she whispered—
"…I think I was waiting for you."
---
My voice broke before it left me.
"I didn't come tonight."
She nodded. "I know."
"I thought maybe you'd forget."
"I thought so too," she said. "But I didn't."
---
And then, gently, without a word—
She reached for my hand.
Fingers cold. But steady.
And for the first time…
She didn't ask who I was.
---
We walked again that night.
But not on the same path.
This time, she led.
Past places she couldn't name but somehow knew.
Every few steps she'd glance at me, like she was checking to make sure I was real.
And when I smiled at her—
She smiled back.
Like maybe… just maybe…
Somewhere inside, she finally remembered something.