Chapter 34

Faye

The morning arrives far too quickly, stealing away whatever fragile moments of rest I'd managed to scrape together. I don't think I ever truly slept—more like I drifted in and out, my thoughts tangling themselves into knots, leaving me with nothing but exhaustion.

When I finally open my eyes, the sunlight spills through my curtains, warm and bright, yet somehow unforgiving. My head feels heavy, a dull throb settling behind my temples, like the remnants of a night I can't quite remember.

I glance at the clock—10:30 a.m. I've overslept, but for once, I don't care. The weight pressing on my body makes the idea of moving almost unbearable. Slowly, I reach for my phone, my fingers weakly brushing across the screen as I search for her name.

Nothing.

No new messages. A small pang of disappointment twists in my chest, though I push it away. She's probably busy at work—of course she is. I force out a quiet sigh, trying to steady myself, though it feels like I'm made of glass, one wrong move away from shattering.

Dragging myself upright, I press my hand to my forehead, hoping somehow that the light pressure will ease the foggy discomfort lingering there. It doesn't. Still, I push myself forward, heading to the bathroom to freshen up, though even that feels like a marathon.

As I pull on my clothes, my movements slow and deliberate, I remind myself of the one thing that might make this day better: Yoko.

I'll go find her at the café. Knowing that we'd promised to spend today together, just the thought of seeing her—the steady calm of her presence, the way her voice grounds me—eases the tight ache in my chest, even if just slightly.

I'll feel better then. I always do, with her around.

Walking through the door, my steps are heavy and slow. I see her behind the counter but she doesn't see me, the aroma smell of the coffee wraths into my nose, providing a gentle comfort, soothing my head.

"Yoko," I called out to her when I reached the counter. She doesn't look at me immediately, but instead remains busy at her task at hand. My heart fell a little at this, why is she ignoring me?

"What's the matter?" I asked, leaning in closer to see her. Then her eyes finally looked at me, one that was hard to describe, like something was on her mind.

"Hey, you're here." She said flatly, not one with concern or joy. "Coffee?"

I nodded simply, sensing something odd with her behavior, like she was avoiding me or something but I quickly brushed it aside when she placed a cup of coffee before me. I took a nice sip, enjoying it.

There was an uncomfortable silence between us. One that hung in the air, I had something to tell her about yesterday and she had something to tell me but I do not know.

"Yoko.." my voice trailed off, picking up all the energy I had within my entire fiber to tell her.

But in that very moment, I backed off, I was afraid for some reason. I felt hesitation within my head. "We're still meeting tonight, right?"

God, I'm so useless in such a situation.

But she doesn't reply to me, she simply focuses on brewing the coffee and then takes a deep sigh. "I can't," she said, her voice cutting through. "I have impromptu plans tonight with Ink."

Feeling slighted, I didn't press for more. "Oh," I then looked down at my coffee cup. "It's alright then. We can meet again tomorrow or Monday."

Her reply came back instantly, like she was waiting for me to say it. "Yeah." I know she has something to tell me, but she wasn't, like she was waiting for me. But I don't know what it is.

Then, her voice came through once more. "Do you.." her voice trailing off, softer. "Have something you want to tell me?"

I blinked at her for a while, then shook my head. God, I'm really.. Hopeless. In that moment, I could see it in her eyes that there was a slight sign of disappointment.

We don't speak again after that. The silence between us says more than words ever could. I linger for a while longer, hoping for something—anything—to shift, but Yoko doesn't spare me more than a fleeting glance. Her focus stays fixed on her tasks, her movements precise and mechanical, like I'm just another customer she needs to serve.

The café begins to fill, the low hum of conversations and clinking cups growing louder, and suddenly, I feel out of place—like I don't belong here, like I'm intruding.

I clear my throat softly, but it goes unnoticed. Swallowing back the ache in my chest, I stand and push out a faint, "I'll get going. See you."

She barely looks up. "Yeah. Bye."

That's it. Two simple words, devoid of warmth.

Stepping outside, the cool afternoon air brushes against me, but it does little to soothe the discomfort clawing its way through me—physically and emotionally. Each step I take feels heavier, like the weight of everything from yesterday is still wrapped tightly around my body, refusing to let go.

Yoko's distant behaviour gnaws at me, her coldness amplifying the unease that has been lingering since last night.

The dull throb in my head intensifies, pulsing with each beat of my heart, and a wave of fatigue crashes over me. My legs feel shaky, my vision slightly blurred as though my body is on the verge of giving in completely.

When I finally make it home, I don't waste time. I head straight to the medicine cabinet, popping a quick pill and swallowing it dry, desperate for relief from the relentless pounding in my skull.

Dragging myself into the bedroom, I slip out of my clothes and climb into bed, the sheets cool against my feverish skin. Curling up beneath the covers, I let my eyes flutter shut, seeking solace in sleep—a short, fleeting escape from everything that feels too overwhelming to bear.

But even as I lay there, wrapped in silence, the weight in my chest refuses to lift, and the echo of Yoko's distant voice rings louder in my mind than I'd care to admit.

Yoko

As the door chimed softly behind her, I watched Faye walk away, her figure disappearing into the distance. A sigh escaped me, heavy and weighted with frustration, guilt, and something sharper—hurt. I let my hands rest against the counter, steadying myself as the emotions swirled inside me.

I knew. Of course I knew.

She had come to tell me something—I could see it in her eyes, the hesitation, the words sitting on the tip of her tongue, waiting for release. But I couldn't bring myself to give her the space to say it. I kept my walls up, cold and distant, shutting her out when I knew she needed me the most.

And yet, I couldn't help it. I couldn't bring myself to ask her. Not after what I saw yesterday.

Because yesterday, I saw her.

In that upscale restaurant—the restaurant, the most elegant, romantic place in town, where every table was lit by soft candlelight, and every corner whispered intimacy. Faye, my Faye, was there. Sitting across from someone. Sitting across from her.

Allison.

The sight still gnawed at me, the image seared into my mind like a cruel brand. The soft lighting reflected in Faye's hair, her shoulders set tensely as she spoke to Allison, who leaned in just a little too close, her posture casual and familiar.

It made my chest tighten, my stomach churn. I had stayed there for what felt like forever, frozen outside the window, unseen but watching—my mind reeling, spinning, and spiraling with questions I couldn't answer.

And now, seeing Faye this morning, hearing her soft voice as she tried to reach me... it hurt. Because deep down, I wanted to pull her close and ask her everything, to demand an explanation. But I didn't. I couldn't.

So instead, I stayed silent. Cold. Distant.

And as I turned back to the growing line of customers waiting at the counter, I plastered on a polite smile, but inside, I was anything but calm.

Because the truth was, I was terrified.

Terrified that what I saw yesterday would undo everything we've built.

I knew. I knew they had spoken the moment I saw Allison slip into her classroom, moving faster than I could. It was like watching a slow-motion car crash I couldn't stop, a knot forming in my stomach as I stood there, frozen. 

What is she doing here? Why is Allison going to meet her?

The thoughts crept in, clawing at the edges of my mind, but I pushed them away. I told myself it was nothing—that whatever they were talking about wouldn't last long, that Faye would come to me after. She always came to me.

But she didn't.

When I sent her a text, waiting just outside her classroom, hoping to see her, she told me our plans were off. She only told me it was about the upcoming school trip. Didn't mention Allison at all.

And that's when it hit me—she had chosen her over me.

The sting of it cut deep, leaving me standing there like a fool, clutching my phone while the hallway buzzed around me. I felt the ground shift beneath me, a mix of anger, hurt, and disbelief crashing together.

Without another word, I turned on my heels and walked away. I couldn't stand there any longer. I needed to get out—away from the thought of them, away from the betrayal I felt bubbling in my chest.

Back at home, I threw myself into my assignments, hoping they would distract me, hoping the endless stream of numbers and words would drown out the noise in my head. But as the hours dragged on, my eyes constantly flicked to my phone, waiting—hoping—that she would text. That she'd tell me it was a mistake, that she wanted to see me tonight.

But the silence stretched on, unbroken.

No call. No message. Nothing.

And with every passing moment, the thoughts I tried so hard to silence grew louder, consuming me bit by bit.

Why didn't she tell me?

Why Allison?

And worst of all—what does this mean for us?

By evening, there was still no message, no call. The silence stretched on like a slow ache in my chest. I could only hope—pray—that she wasn't with Allison anymore. That maybe, just maybe, she'd clear things up with me soon.

Unable to sit still, I grabbed Ham's leash, signaling that we were going out for a walk. His little paws hit the floor with happy urgency as he obediently sat by the door, tail wagging in excitement.

"Let's go, buddy," I murmured, crouching to pat his head as I clipped on the leash. "Let's clear our minds, yeah?"

The evening air was sharp and cool, making me shudder slightly as I stepped outside. Spring's coming, I thought absently. The breeze carried with it the faint scent of fresh blossoms and rain—both calming and unsettling, like the promise of something I couldn't quite grasp.

I let Ham lead the way, his nose tugging us toward random streets and corners. I didn't care where we ended up; I just needed the quiet to drown out the questions that wouldn't stop gnawing at my mind.

The streets were calmer here—fewer people, fewer distractions. Soft, muffled sounds of distant laughter and footsteps floated by, blending into the rhythm of the evening. But then, as we turned a corner, Ham's tugging slowed, and I found myself standing across from a small, romantic-looking restaurant.

And there she was.

Faye.

Through the window, I saw her seated at a table, looking as beautiful as ever. Even from a distance, the way she held herself—focused, composed—made my heart clench. For a fleeting moment, the doubts vanished. I felt relief, a small smile pulling at the corner of my lips as I took her in.

But then I saw her.

Allison.

Leaning in closer to Faye, her expression soft and hopeful, a faint glow on her face that I didn't need to interpret—I knew that look. The kind that screamed second chances.

I froze. My chest tightened painfully as I watched the scene unfold. Faye's arms crossed as she spoke, her face unreadable, but then—then came that pressed smile. Subtle, almost gentle.

And that was enough to shatter me.

A wave of jealousy, sadness, and heartache crashed into me, stealing the breath from my lungs. I couldn't watch anymore. My eyes darted away, burning as I tugged Ham's leash gently. "Come on, boy. Let's go home," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Ham followed me obediently, his happy energy a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me.

Back home, I shut the door behind me and leaned against it for a moment, exhaling shakily. I changed out of my clothes and sank onto the couch, letting my head fall back as my thoughts spiraled.

Why didn't she tell me?

What are they talking about?

Is she giving Allison a chance to come back into her life?

Didn't she say that Allison will not come in between us?

The questions circled like vultures, tearing at the edges of my mind, each one worse than the last. We were supposed to be honest with each other—open, no secrets. So why hadn't she said anything? Why was she keeping me in the dark?

I glanced at my phone again, hoping—begging—for a text. A message. A sign that I was wrong. That she wasn't choosing Allison over me.

But there was nothing. Just the glaring silence.

Eventually, the exhaustion became too much. Somewhere between my spiraling thoughts and the heavy ache in my chest, I drifted off on the couch, my phone still clutched in my hand.

And as I slipped into uneasy sleep, that image lingered behind my closed eyes: Faye at the table, Allison leaning in close.

The familiar chime of the bell above the door pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. I looked up to see Bud striding in, his easy, signature smile somehow cutting through the cloud hovering over me.

"Hey, Bud," I said, forcing a bit of enthusiasm into my voice as I straightened up. "The usual?"

He nodded, settling into his usual seat at the counter. "You know me too well."

I turned to the machine, my hands moving on autopilot as I prepared his drink. The hum of the espresso machine filled the silence, but my mind drifted—again—away from the cafe, away from the present. I wasn't even sure how long I'd been standing there until Bud's voice cut through the mechanical buzz.

"Something's on your mind, Yoko?"

His voice was warm, steady, yet concerned. I blinked, the sound pulling me back into reality. My movements stilled for a moment before I plastered on a small smile, just enough to pass as normal. "Here you go—your coffee."

I slid the mug in front of him and busied myself again, grabbing a cloth to wipe the already-spotless counter. The repetitive motion was comforting, almost meditative, but I could feel his eyes on me, watching—seeing through me.

Bud took a sip of his coffee, savoring it quietly before speaking again. "You're wiping that counter like it insulted you," he remarked softly, his tone light but tinged with genuine concern. "What's wrong, Yoko?"

I froze mid-swipe, the towel gripped in my hands. God, I've been wiping this spot for how long now? I exhaled a deep, weary sigh and set the cloth down, leaning lightly against the counter as if it could prop me up from the weight I carried.

For a moment, I considered brushing him off again, offering another non-answer. But Bud's steady gaze—understanding, patient—made me falter.

"It's nothing," I mumbled at first, though even I knew how unconvincing it sounded. I ran a hand through my hair, biting my lower lip as I tried to steady my thoughts. "Just... one of those days, you know?"

Bud didn't push, but he didn't look away either. He just sat there, his presence calm and unwavering, waiting like he always did.

And somehow, that made it harder to hold it all in.

"It's just... something with my partner," I admitted, my voice softer as I leaned against the counter, my fingers absentmindedly fidgeting with the towel.

Bud tilted his head slightly, his tone easy but perceptive. "What gives? Your English lit teacher, right?"

A faint smile tugged at my lips despite the heaviness in my chest. Bud always knew—he had this quiet way of understanding people even when they didn't say much. I never told him outright, but he pieced things together in his calm, unobtrusive way.

"Yeah," I murmured, my brows furrowing as I tried to untangle the thoughts swirling in my mind. "It's... complicated. Something feels off with Faye. I saw her with her ex yesterday—Allison—and it overwhelmed me."

Bud pushed his now-empty mug aside and leaned forward slightly, his expression thoughtful and steady. "You think she's hiding something from you?"

I let out a soft, frustrated sigh, my shoulders sinking. "I don't know, Bud. I really don't. I waited for her to say something—anything—because I know she's probably got her reasons. But when I gave her the chance, she didn't. She just... didn't. And it hurts."

Bud's voice came through calm and measured, a comforting presence in the noise of my overthinking. "Yoko, I get it. It's human to feel hurt when things don't go the way you want them to. It's natural to want answers, especially when it feels like you're in the dark."

I looked up at him, listening closely, letting his words sink in.

"But in all of this," he continued, his gaze steady on mine, "have you thought about trust? Not just her trust in you, but your trust in her? Even if she told you the truth today—right now—would you believe it?"

The question caught me off guard. I blinked, my mind quieting as I let his words settle over me. I nodded faintly, trying to absorb his perspective.

"Maybe she hasn't said anything yet because she doesn't know where to start," Bud added, his tone softer now, as if he could sense the weight I carried.

"Or maybe she's holding back because she's afraid. Afraid of what it'll mean, or how you'll see her once she does. People hold things back for a reason—even the ones who love us."

I swallowed, his words cutting through the frustration, forcing me to see things differently. "I do trust her," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "We promised each other transparency. I just hate not knowing. It's like... like I'm stumbling around in the dark, and it doesn't feel fair."

Bud gave me a small, sympathetic smile, one that somehow felt like a lifeline. "There you go. That's where communication comes in. Trust and communication go hand in hand—without one, the other crumbles. Maybe she's waiting for the right time, or maybe she's scared of how you'll take it. But if you let this fester without talking, it'll grow into something bigger than it ever needed to be."

I nodded slowly, his words striking a chord deep within me. "You're right. I'll think about it and... I'll talk to her. Soon."

"Good." Bud leaned back, satisfied. "She's a good one, Yoko. Don't let something like this build a wall between you two."

A faint smile broke through the storm brewing in my chest. "Thanks, Bud. Really."

And for the first time since yesterday, I felt lighter. The weight of uncertainty wasn't gone completely, but Bud's words offered me something I hadn't had in the last 24 hours—perspective.

Maybe Faye needed the right time. Maybe she needed me to be ready, too. I had let my frustration cloud what I knew in my heart: that she wouldn't intentionally hurt me. I'd been so caught up in my own doubts that I hadn't considered how she must be feeling, too.

I straightened up, my hands relaxing at my sides. I would speak to her—not in anger or suspicion, but with the love and trust we promised each other.

Because whatever this was, we'd figure it out. Together.