The rain had just begun to fall when I walked into Pine & Spoon, the little café where Mei and I had been meeting for almost ten years. Our table—third from the window, beside the potted fern—was empty, waiting. I shrugged off my jacket, settled into the wooden chair, and breathed in the smell of warm soup and fresh bread.
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| Image credits: ChatGPT |
When Mei finally came in, her shoulders looked smaller somehow. She didn’t need to tell me what happened; I could see the heartbreak in the way she clutched her bag, as if she needed to hold something together.
“You’re here,” I said softly. “That’s what matters.”
For a moment, she stared at the menu even though she knew it by heart. Then the words tumbled out—fragile, unsteady.
“He ended it last night.”
I reached across the table, palm open. She took my hand like someone clinging to the edge of a quiet storm.
“I thought…” She swallowed hard. “I thought we were building something real.”
The waiter placed our usual drinks—her chamomile tea, my flat white—on the table. Mei stared at hers as if it could give her answers.
“Mei,” I said gently, “you don’t have to explain anything. Just… let yourself feel what you’re feeling.”
She nodded, and the tears finally came—silent but heavy. I passed her a napkin, not to tidy her up, but to tell her she had the space to fall apart if she needed to.
“It hurts,” she said after a while. “It feels like something in my chest cracked, and I can’t fix it.”
“I know,” I replied. “Breakups don’t just end relationships—they end versions of us. It’s normal to grieve that.”
She looked up at me, searching. “But I don’t know what to do now. I feel lost.”
“Then be lost,” I said with a soft smile. “For now. You don’t have to rush your way out of this. But when you’re ready… we can figure out the next steps together.”
Mei let out a shaky breath. “I just keep thinking—was I not enough?”
“You were enough,” I said. “He just wasn’t the right mirror for you. You shine differently from what he could hold.”
Her eyes softened, as if a small part of her believed it.
The soup arrived. We ate quietly at first, the way people do when their hearts are too tired for anything else. Outside, the rain created soft patterns on the window, like the café itself was offering comfort.
“Do you think I’ll be okay?” she asked.
“I know you will,” I said. “Not because you’re trying to be strong, but because you don’t hide from your pain. You let yourself feel it. That’s how healing starts.”
Mei took a slow sip of her tea. “I miss him already.”
“Of course you do,” I said. “Missing someone doesn’t mean you should go back. It just means your heart loved honestly.”
She looked out at the rain for a long moment. “It feels strange… but being here helps. This place, this table.” She tapped the wooden surface gently. “Being with you.”
“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “We’ve still got at least a hundred more dinners at this table before they close this place down.”
She chuckled—a small, cracked laugh, but real.
When we finished eating, Mei tucked her hair behind her ear and took a slow breath. The heaviness hadn’t fully lifted, but something in her had loosened—just enough for the light to seep back in.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For letting me fall apart a little.”
“That’s what this table is for,” I said. “Falling apart, putting ourselves back together, and ordering too much dessert.”
Mei rolled her eyes playfully. “So… molten chocolate cake?”
“Non-negotiable.”
And as the rain eased outside and the warm plates arrived between us, something gentle returned—a reminder that even in heartbreak, there are places where you can land softly, breathe again, and begin—slowly, quietly—to mend.
Thank you for reading Daily Refreshing.
Note: The above short story is generated using ChatGPT.
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