Emma appeared out of nowhere.
She stood right in front of the shop, a mischievous smile plastered on her face like old times—but this wasn't old times. Not for James.
He looked up from his seat, clenching his jaw. He studied her—examining each blink, each breath—as if trying to crack open her motive. She greeted him as if the air wasn't cold between them. "Hello. How are you?"
His brow arched at her casual tone. Your trick won't work this time, he thought. He knew her patterns. Or so he believed.
"I'm well," he said, with hollow courtesy. "And you?"
Emma tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, flashing her brightest smile. But James wasn't dazzled—he was armored now. She waved off his stiffness with a flutter of her hand. "I'm fine. I'm here to meet up with Beauty. She'll be coming soon."
Beauty? He nearly scoffed. He knew those two weren't close anymore. And Emma had spoken ill of her more than once. What a convenient excuse. You're trying to get close to me again, aren't you?
"Okay," he replied flatly, already returning to the spreadsheet on his mini laptop. This wasn't worth his time—he had real work to do.
Flashbacks flickered in both of them. Her walking away. Him changing his lock screen because it reminded him of her. The texts he never responded to.
Once, he would've jumped at this moment. Now, she was a ghost who wore too much color.
They had dated—until Emma began breaking his trust. Over and over. James forgave, hoping love could purify chaos. But his spiritual antenna—his gift, his curse—always told him the truth. Whenever she was unfaithful, he felt it. Even from miles away, it would clutch his chest like a storm wind. It wasn't just betrayal—it was torment.
He had finally cut her off. Blocked her. Shut the door. But now here she stood.
"How is your life?" she tried again, voice cracking as if dragging her words through a muddy throat.
He paused, not looking at her. "It's been good. Mostly just trying to be the best version of me."
She nodded silently, her eyes roaming the shop, landing on a small photo frame tucked beside some receipts. Their photo. Faded but intact. Her lips parted as if to speak again, but she swallowed it.
Boy, you're playing hard to get. She shifted in place. I know you… I'll break that wall down eventually. She smiled again—but this time, it didn't reach her eyes.
"Can I… have some water from your tap?"
James stopped typing. He stared at her like she'd asked him for something impossible. Why are you punishing me? Every time I look at you, it's endless hell. Now you want my water?
But his voice came out softer than expected. "Sure. Help yourself."
Emma walked inside, heading toward the kitchen.
A memory danced in her mind as she drank— That rainy Sunday James had let her nap on his lap, rain drumming against the roof. He'd wrapped her in a green fleece blanket and tucked her braids behind her ears. She didn't feel deserving, but in that moment, she had felt safe.
When she returned from the kitchen, she hovered uncertainly, brushing a trembling hand against her skirt.
"Can I sit for a while inside here… where it's hidden from my family? I don't want them seeing me."
James tilted his head. Why would your family care? Unless… they don't know you're here. You didn't tell them you were coming. Just like the weekends you used to sneak over. He weighed her in silence.
"Fine," he said eventually.
He went back to his laptop, but every keystroke felt heavier.
She sat down. Quietly. Awkwardly. Her fingers twisted in her lap.
Inside her, the guilt pulsed like a bruise. You ruin things, Emma. Always have. First with your sister, now with him. He was the one person who didn't treat you like trash, and you pushed him away too.
She glanced at him again. Her jaw clenched.
Say something, James. Even if it's to tell me to go.
A thought broke loose.
Just say it, Em. Even if your voice shakes.
She took a breath. "I've been thinking about us a lot lately," she began softly, eyes locked on a spot on the floor. "Honestly… I don't even know what drives me to do the things I do."
James looked at her, unreadable.
She continued. "But one thing I do know? You mean a lot to me. After my sister left, I've never had anyone. No one but you."
Flashback: Her sister, standing in the doorway. Eyes blazing. "You're broken, Emma. That's why no one stays." Those were the last words she ever said to me.
"I hurt you," Emma whispered now. "More than I can explain. And I don't expect anything—just… don't push me away completely. Not as a friend. Please."
James's stare remained flat. He was trying not to feel. Not to see her pain. But it was right there, painted across her entire face.
"Please say something?"
He didn't. Not because he didn't want to—he couldn't. His mind screamed go to her, but his heart had learned to scream stay back even louder.
And then, her voice cracked. Her composure broke. She sobbed—at first quietly, then violently. She stood suddenly, wiping her tears in haste.
"I'm sorry for coming. I won't bother you again."
She turned and walked out.
And that was when James felt the breaking of something inside him—like glass underwater. The silence left in her wake was no longer peaceful. It gnawed.
But he didn't move. Not yet.
As Emma stepped away, her feet dragging beneath her shame, the distance grew — ten metres, yet it felt like ten years of silence closing in behind her.
James stared after her. What if she doesn't come back? What if that was her last goodbye?
Panic erupted in his chest like a flare.
I just wanted to punish her… not destroy her. Maybe I've gone too far.
His heartbeat thundered. Fist clenched. Laptop forgotten.
Then, from deep within — where pain and love wrestled for dominance — came a voice so powerful it shook the still air:
"Emma!"
His voice, raw and jagged, sliced through the quiet morning like a blade. She froze mid-step.
"Emma!" he called again, louder — like he was shouting through time itself.
She stopped, her body going stiff as stone. From behind, she looked like a statue — breathless, startled, unsure whether to run or turn.
"Come back here. Now!"
The order cracked through the air like thunder.
Emma slowly turned, her eyes wide and glistening. She hadn't expected him to break. Not like that. Her chest rose and fell with panic, hope, and disbelief.
She didn't move yet — unsure whether that voice held rage… or rescue.
James stood in the doorway now, the sunlight casting him half in shadow. His eyes locked onto hers — not empty anymore, but ablaze.