The hum of the engine filled the silence between us as I navigated through the afternoon traffic. She sat in the passenger seat, legs tucked beneath her, flipping through an old paperback she had pulled from my backseat. The golden light of the setting sun streamed through the windshield, catching the highlights in her blonde hair and making her look almost ethereal.
I stole a glance at her, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel. She had always been my best friend—my constant, my anchor in the storm. But lately, every moment with her felt heavier, like I was carrying something I couldn’t put down.
“What?” she asked, catching me staring. Her lips curved into that familiar, teasing smile.
“Nothing,” I said quickly, eyes flicking back to the road. “Just wondering how many times you’ve read that book.”
She laughed, holding it up. "Too many. But it’s comforting. Like an old friend."
I nodded, understanding more than I wanted to admit. The bookstore was only a few minutes away, but I wished the drive would stretch on forever. This in-between space—where we were still us but not really—was the only place I knew how to exist around her anymore.
“After the bookstore, can we stop by the plant shop?” she asked, tapping her fingers against the dashboard. “I need something new for my windowsill.”
“Of course,” I said, because I could never say no to her.
She beamed, and for a moment, it felt like old times. Just us, no complications, no looming reality waiting to pull me under.
The bookstore was nestled between a coffee shop and a vintage record store, the kind of place that smelled of old pages and warm nostalgia. As soon as we stepped inside, she drifted off toward the fiction section, her fingers grazing the spines of books like each one held a secret meant only for her.
I trailed behind, pretending to browse, but mostly watching her. She was effortlessly radiant, and I hated how much I still loved her.
“Found it!” she announced, holding up a novel triumphantly.
I smiled, but my mind was elsewhere, tangled in what-ifs and maybes. I had spent years convincing myself that my feelings would fade, that time would ease the ache. But time had only sharpened it, making every moment with her more bittersweet.
“You okay?” she asked, studying me with that familiar concern.
“Yeah,” I lied. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
I hesitated, my hands curling into my pockets. “You.”
She blinked, surprise flickering across her face before she softened. She didn’t ask for an explanation, just handed me the book she had found. “You should read this.”
I took it from her, our fingers brushing for the briefest moment. Even that small contact sent my heart into a freefall. The quiet in the bookstore suddenly felt suffocating, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on me.
Stepping outside, she linked her arm through mine, her warmth a painful reminder of what I couldn’t have.
The drive to the plant store was filled with a silence that spoke louder than words. Not awkward, just heavy. I could feel the weight of what I didn’t say settling between us.
She traced patterns on the window with her fingertips, her voice breaking the quiet. “You’ve been quiet today.”
I exhaled. “Just thinking.”
Her eyes flickered to me. “About me?”
I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Yeah.”
Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to ask more, but the moment passed as the light turned green.
“Plant store?” She was so cute when she asked. Eyes big and smile wide.
I nodded and put on a grin, “Plant store, buddy.”
She wandered through the aisles, gently touching the leaves, pausing every so often to admire a new bloom. I watched her, memorizing the way she moved, as if trying to hold on to something slipping through my fingers.
“Harper and I finally set a date,” she said suddenly, cradling a succulent in her hands.
My stomach tightened. “Oh?”
She nodded, then turned to me. “You’ll come to the engagement party, right?”
I hesitated. “I don’t know.”
Her brows pulled together. “Why?”
I swallowed hard, my gaze dropping to the rows of greenery in front of us. “Because it hurts.”
Her face softened. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“I know.” I met her gaze, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “But you did.”
She reached for my hand, giving it a brief squeeze before letting go. “I still want you there.”
I wasn’t sure if I could survive watching her promise forever to someone else. But still, I nodded. “I’ll think about it.”
We moved through the shop slowly, the scent of fresh soil and greenery wrapping around us.
“This one,” she said decisively, holding it up. “It’s small, but it’s resilient. I like that.”
I forced a smile. “Good choice.”
She tilted her head, studying me. “What about you? Want to get one?”
I looked around, scanning the plants, but my heart wasn’t in it. “I don’t think so.”
“Come on,” she nudged my arm. “Even you could use a little growth.”
I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head. But then I saw it—a simple ivy plant, winding and stubborn. I picked it up, turning it in my hands. “This one.”
She grinned. “See? I knew you had it in you.”
As we paid and walked out, she hugged her cactus to her chest. “Thanks for coming with me.”
I nodded. “Always.”
But as she talked about where she’d place her new plant, my mind drifted. Growth was good, necessary even. But some things—some feelings—rooted themselves too deep to ever be uprooted completely.
By u/theybeme (Reddit)
