Twice a lifetime

MAYA

Ethan left for Chicago, and I stayed in Cedar Creek. It felt like I was watching my own life from the outside, moving in slow motion as I tried to force myself to heal, to forget, and to find my way. But how do you forget someone who was once your whole world?

It wasn't easy, not at first. I buried myself in my studies, throwing myself into college applications and the pressure of meeting everyone's expectations. I was determined to make it out of this town, to prove to myself that I could be more than the quiet girl who always took the backseat.

But I wasn't prepared for the ache that lingered when I saw couples holding hands on campus or when the seasons changed, and I remembered how we used to sit by the lake, watching the sunset together. Ethan's absence became a permanent shadow in my life, something I couldn't shake, no matter how far I tried to run.

In those early months, I told myself I'd made the right decision. I told myself over and over that I was choosing my dreams, my future. But every quiet moment, every sunset, every familiar song on the radio brought me back to him. I started avoiding places we used to go. The lake, the coffee shop, and even the bench under the big oak tree where we used to sit after school all reminded me of him.

Chicago was a world away from Cedar Creek, and Ethan had embraced it with open arms. He found his place there, immersing himself in the art of photography, his passion lighting up every corner of the city. He made a name for himself, not just as a photographer but as someone who made people feel seen. His photos were filled with raw emotion and stories behind every frame.

I saw his work in local galleries and magazines, and though a part of me was proud, another part of me wondered what would've happened if we'd made different choices.

I, on the other hand, stayed on the straight and narrow, earning my degree and building my future step by step. It wasn't glamorous, but it was safe. I became a public relations officer for a local company, my days filled with press releases and managing events. It wasn't the dream I'd had back in high school, but it paid the bills and gave me the stability I thought I needed.

There were relationships, of course, dates that never lasted, men who never came close to making me feel the way Ethan had. They were kind, even thoughtful, but something was always missing. They didn't look at me the way he had, with that intensity in his eyes that made me feel like I was the only person in the room.

A few months after graduation, I heard that Ethan had been offered a big opportunity: a chance to photograph an overseas project. It was exactly the kind of opportunity I'd always known he'd get, but it was also the moment I realized how far apart we had grown. I read the announcement in a magazine, his face next to an article about his career, and I couldn't help but feel a pang in my chest.

He was out there, living the life he had always dreamed of, while I was here, stuck in the quiet comfort of the life I'd created. And yet, in the midst of it all, I couldn't let go of the idea that somehow, we were still meant to be.

But bravery wasn't something I'd had in abundance back then. It was easy to convince myself I was fine until I saw him walk into that coffee shop ten years later.

I hadn't expected to feel anything at all when I saw him. After all, I had spent years building a life without him, learning how to live with the hole he'd left behind. But the second I saw him, my heart betrayed me. My pulse quickened, my thoughts scattered, and for a moment, all the years between us disappeared.

Ethan was the same, but also so different. He had grown into the man I had imagined he would be the successful photographer, the one with the world at his feet. His eyes were still the same, though that spark of mischief I had once adored was still there. But there was a heaviness to him now, something I couldn't quite place.

As I stared at him across the room, I wondered what his life had been like since he left Cedar Creek. Did he ever think of me? Had he ever regretted leaving? And was I still the girl he'd left behind, or had I become someone else entirely in the years without him?

There was a moment, one fleeting second when he looked directly at me. His gaze softened, and my breath caught in my throat. For that brief instant, it was like no time had passed at all. But the reality of the situation crashed over me quickly: we were strangers now, and the love we had was nothing more than a memory.

I wanted to say something. I wanted to run to him and ask him everything about the years we'd spent apart, about the dreams he had chased, about the heart he left behind. But I was frozen, stuck in the fear of what might happen if we spoke, if we re-opened old wounds.

The bell above the coffee shop door jingled as he left, the sound sharp against the stillness of my heart. He didn't look back.

And just like that, the chance I had been waiting for, the answer to all the questions I had buried for so long, slipped away.

I stood up, my hands trembling as I reached for my purse. The warm, familiar ache in my chest had returned, and no matter how many years had passed, I realized that some things never truly go away.

The question lingered in my mind, unanswered: What if he had never left?