บท 7: A New Horizon
The city was alive, buzzing with the energy of a thousand stories waiting to unfold. The familiar hum of traffic, the distant chatter of people going about their lives—everything felt like background noise to the strange silence I had found in myself. It had been days since my meeting with Marissa, and though I'd agreed to give her a chance, a part of me couldn't shake the feeling that things would never truly be the same.
That afternoon, I found myself wandering through the streets, lost in my thoughts. It was an unfamiliar feeling, this sense of being untethered as if everything I had known had slipped from my grasp and I was now floating, unsure of what to hold onto.
But I was learning to live with it.
I had decided to let go of the past, to no longer be shackled by memories of betrayal, and I couldn't let the weight of those old wounds drag me down anymore. Marissa's apology had been a step forward, but it was up to me to decide if I was ready to rebuild any part of that old world. It was no longer about her or Dante or the life I had once lived—it was about me and what I needed to move forward.
I stopped in front of a bookstore, its windows lined with colorful displays of the latest bestsellers. It was a small, cozy shop, the kind of place I used to spend hours in when I was younger, losing myself in the pages of a book, escaping the world for a little while. The thought of those simpler days brought a bittersweet smile to my lips. I had forgotten how much I had loved to read, how much I had loved losing myself in the written word. It had been so long since I allowed myself to indulge in something for the sheer joy of it, instead of constantly focusing on survival, on moving forward.
Maybe it was time to rediscover those parts of me that I had left behind.
I pushed open the door, the soft chime of the bell above my head signaling my arrival. The air inside smelled of fresh paper and aged leather, a mix of new and old that instantly put me at ease. I wandered through the aisles, running my fingers along the spines of books, feeling the stories waiting to be discovered.
It wasn't until I reached the back corner of the store, where a small table was set up with a display of journals and notebooks, that I saw him.
He was standing by the table, his back to me, examining a leather-bound journal. His dark hair was slightly messy as if he had just run his hands through it in frustration. His posture was relaxed, but there was a tension in his shoulders that caught my attention, a quiet storm brewing just beneath the surface.
For a moment, I didn't move. I just watched him, as if my feet were rooted to the ground. I didn't recognize him immediately, but something about his presence felt familiar, like a puzzle piece that had been lost for too long.
Then, he turned.
Our eyes met across the room, and I froze.
It was him.
Dante.
The last person I ever expected to see again.
---
The Encounter
For a long moment, neither of us moved. My heart was racing, my breath caught in my throat. Dante stood there, his gaze unwavering, a mixture of surprise and something else flickering in his eyes. There was no question about it—he recognized me. I could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes softened with the faintest hint of regret.
"Elizabeth," he said, his voice low, as if saying my name was something he hadn't done in years.
I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself. "Dante," I replied, my voice coming out softer than I intended. "I didn't expect to see you here."
He took a step toward me, his gaze never leaving mine. "I didn't expect to see you, either," he admitted, his tone surprisingly warm. "But it's good to see you."
I didn't know how to respond to that. I had spent so much time learning to live without him, building a life that didn't include him, and now here he was, standing in front of me like a ghost from my past.
"How have you been?" he asked as if we hadn't spent years apart, as if the past hadn't happened at all.
I hesitated before answering. "I've been... well, I've been better."
Dante nodded, as if he understood exactly what I meant, though I knew he couldn't possibly understand the depths of my pain, the years of betrayal and heartbreak that had shaped me into who I was now.
"I heard about everything that happened," he said quietly, his expression becoming more serious. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I know I can't undo the past, but I wish I could have been there for you."
I wanted to scream at him, to demand why he hadn't been there, why he had let me suffer alone. But instead, I stood there, staring at him, trying to sort through the myriad of emotions swirling inside me.
"You weren't there," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "You chose to walk away. I needed you, Dante, and you just... disappeared."
His expression hardened, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. "I know. And I can't take that back. But I've regretted it every day. I've thought about you more than you could ever know."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy and pregnant with meaning. I didn't know what to say to that. I didn't know if I even wanted to hear it.
"I don't know what you expect from me, Dante," I said, taking a step back. "You left me when I needed you the most. And now, after everything, you want to come back into my life?"
He stepped closer, his gaze never wavering. "I don't expect anything from you. I just... I just wanted to see you again. To apologize."
I shook my head, my heart aching. "An apology doesn't change anything. It doesn't change what you did. You can't just come back into my life and expect everything to be fine."
"I know," he said, his voice strained. "I don't expect you to forgive me. I just wanted to make things right. I wanted you to know that I regret everything. I regret not being there for you."
For a moment, the silence between us stretched on, thick and suffocating. I didn't know what to do, what to say. Part of me wanted to walk away, to leave him standing there and never look back. But another part of me, the part that still held on to the memory of the man he used to be, wanted to believe him.
"I don't know if I can ever forgive you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm not the same person I was when we... when we were together. I've changed."
Dante nodded, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and hope. "I can see that. And I can't blame you for it. I just wanted to see if there's any chance..."
I didn't let him finish. "There's no chance, Dante," I said firmly, my heart pounding in my chest. "I've moved on. I've built a life without you, and I'm not going to let the past drag me back."
I turned away before he could say anything else, my mind spinning with a thousand emotions. I had to leave. I had to get away from him, from the past, before it consumed me all over again.
---
The Aftermath
That night, I couldn't sleep. The image of Dante's face, the way he had looked at me, had haunted me long after I left the bookstore. I had thought that seeing him again would bring closure, but instead, it had only reopened old wounds.
I had told him that I had moved on, that I was done with the past. But the truth was, I wasn't sure if I had truly let go of him. How could I? He had been such a big part of my life, even if the memories were now tainted by betrayal.
As I lay awake, staring up at the ceiling, I realized something—I wasn't ready to let him back into my life. I wasn't ready to forgive him, to let go of the anger and hurt that still lingered. But I also knew that I couldn't keep holding onto the past forever.
It was time to move forward. For good this time.
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