Saturday Afternoon – A Quiet Café in Midtown
The clatter of coffee cups, the soft buzz of low-fi jazz overhead, and the gentle murmur of conversations filled the café. Sienna sat by the window, her fingers curled around a cappuccino she hadn't touched much. Outside, cars passed lazily through the damp streets, the overcast sky matching the uncertainty in her chest.
Then Blake walked in.
He still wore that casual confidence—fitted navy jacket, tousled hair like he hadn't tried too hard, though Sienna knew better. She recognized the way his eyes lit up when he spotted her, the way he slid into the seat across from her like no time had passed.
"You look… different," he said, smiling.
Sienna raised an eyebrow. "Older?"
"Brighter," he offered.
She didn't smile.
"It's been a while," Blake added, signaling to the waitress for an espresso. "I saw your name on a tech blog last week. Said you're part of the new branding team for Voxo?"
She nodded. "Yeah. I start in full next month."
"That's huge. I'm happy for you."
Sienna met his gaze. "Why'd you really ask to meet?"
Blake leaned back, letting out a long breath. "I guess… seeing you reminded me of what I let go. I never said it back then, but I should have. I should've made a choice. You deserved one."
She looked at him steadily. "You did make a choice, Blake. You chose your options."
He looked down, jaw tight. "I know."
A silence settled between them, stretched and uneasy. Outside, the wind picked up. A passing bus splashed a puddle against the sidewalk.
"I'm seeing someone," Sienna said, voice quiet but firm. "And it's good. Better than I've had in a long time."
Blake's eyes flicked up. "Let me tell . Ethan Vale?"
"You've seen him with me several times!"
"Everyone in our field has. Quiet cocky and unreadable .Bit of a hard shell, no?"
"Maybe," she said, her tone sharper now. "But he sees me. Listens. Doesn't make me feel like a backup plan."
Blake sighed. "I just wanted you to know… if you ever wonder, I did care. I still do."
Sienna blinked. Her past self might've melted at those words. But not this one. She stood slowly.
"Thank you for saying that. But I stopped wondering the moment I realized someone else didn't hesitate."
And with that, she left—without looking back.
Two Weeks Later – Ethan's Apartment, Brooklyn
Sienna let herself in with the spare key Ethan had given her a month ago. The apartment was dark, a few soft glows from his desk monitor and the blinking light on his router. Dishes stacked by the sink. A hoodie slung over a chair.
He was still at the co-working space. Again.
She poured herself a glass of wine and sat on the couch. This wasn't how it used to feel. There used to be music playing, Ethan moving around the kitchen while teasing her, them sharing noodles straight from the pot, laughing.
Now it felt like waiting.
He walked in around ten. Hair mussed, backpack still on.
"Hey," he said, dropping his keys in the bowl. "Didn't know you'd be here."
"You gave me the key," she replied, gently.
He offered a tired smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "Right. Sorry. Board stuff's been brutal. We had two clients pull out this week."
Sienna nodded slowly. "I've barely seen you in two weeks."
"I know."
She stood, voice low. "Are we okay?"
Ethan paused, his silence saying more than anything.
"I saw Blake," he said suddenly. "The day I dropped you off. He was outside your building."
She inhaled. "I told you I met him. It meant nothing."
"Maybe. But seeing him there… it threw me," Ethan said, eyes hollow. "I don't do well with uncertainty, Sienna. You know that."
"So your response is to shut down on me?" she asked. "To disappear into your work instead of talking to me?"
"I'm scared," he admitted, finally. "Because I let you in, and that means I can lose you."
"You can't build a relationship from fear."
"I'm not used to this," he said, voice raw. "I know how to write code. Pitch investors. Control outcomes. But not this."
(Playing like this is surely good, with lighting a spark of possession....)
She stepped closer, her hands finding his. "You think sex is the only way to reach at someone's soul, Ethan. But the real intimacy is this—being vulnerable, scared, messy… and still showing up."
He looked at her, something breaking behind his eyes.
"I need time," he said again, softer.
(Time..... For another target ... for my greatest future.....)
She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. "Then I hope you use it to remember what you could lose. I'll wait and see..."
And as she left his apartment that night, the hallway felt colder than the winter outside.