Overheard

I was sitting in a café when two girls started talking about me. They didn't know.

I was at a corner table. Laptop open, flat white going cold. Two girls at the next table, one with a blonde ponytail, one with huge headphones around her neck. They were loud, in that university way.

"So I told him," the blonde said, "and he just. Looked at me. Like he'd forgotten how to talk."

"The emotionally unavailable one?" Headphones asked.

"Yes. Ten out of ten. Ghosted me, but in person. Like, he'd sit next to me and be gone."

I froze. I knew that story. Not because I'd heard it, but because I'd lived it. Thinking about it made my face hot.

Her name was Priya. We dated for eight months. She said those exact words to me once, in my car. "You're here, but you're not here."

I should've left. I stayed. Pretended to type. My heart thudded.

Then the blonde said, "I swear, it's the one thing I'll never get over."

Headphones snorted. "Seriously? He sounds awful."

"He wasn't," the blonde said, and her voice went soft. "That's the thing. He was the best thing I never said goodbye to."

I looked up.

It wasn't Priya.

But for one second, I thought it was.

And that was enough to show me how much I'd been waiting to hear it.