exhaustion and worry. He was smoking.
The look was familiar. It was the same look
he’d worn in the other life, when his research
hit a roadblock, or when Sarah rejected his
attempts to reconcile. Back then, despite his
outward success, he struggled behind the
scenes. The academic path was lonely and
arduous. He had tried to get back together with Sarah after achieving some measure of success. They’d reconnected, but his life was in
another city, his time consumed by the lab. He
couldn’t compete with the wealthy, free-
spending men who also pursued her. After six months of trying, she’d rejected him again,
gracefully exiting his life. The moon, once within
reach, was now distant, unattainable.
And I, the villain who stole the letter and ruined
their chance, carried that blame. Because in his
mind, if they’d been at the same college, if
they’d stayed together, everything would have
been different.
<
Looking at him now, I wondered what was
causing that familiar look of despair. He caught my eye and quickly extinguished his cigarette. He stood up and walked towards me, his voice raspy from smoking. “I didn’t get a chance to say hello last time. Ashley, you’ve changed. You look… great. You’ve done so well…” He hesitated, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “I was immature back then. I was worried about what
Sarah would think, about jeopardizing things with her. Calling us ‘just friends‘… that wasn’t fair to you.”
I waited for him to finish, then smiled gently. “It’s okay, Josh. We were just friends.”
What else could we have been?
His face stiffened, then fell. He looked at the
fading sunset, a self–deprecating laugh
escaping his lips. “I’ve thought about it so
many times. What if I hadn’t seen that letter?
What would my life he like now?”
<
I finished his thought, my voice soft. “But you
did see the letter. You couldn’t not see it.”
He turned to me sharply. “What if someone took it?”
I froze. Before I could answer, he asked,
“Ashley, if you’d seen it first, would you have taken it?”
I searched his eyes, looking for something,
anything, but found nothing. I shook my head calmly. “No. I wouldn’t have.”
We looked away, a heavy silence settling
between us. He let out a breath, as if relieved. “That’s good. That’s good.” He repeated the words like a mantra. Then he said, “After we
broke up, I kept having this dream. I dreamt that you took the letter, that I never got together with Sarah. That I hated you for it, my whole life. And that… we both died in a car crash,
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because of me.” His voice dropped to a
whisper. “The… the warmth of the blood felt so
real. Like it actually happened.”
I murmured a noncommittal sound, turning to
go back inside. “It was just a dream, Josh.
Don’t worry about it.
But I knew. It wasn’t just a dream. The car
crash happened on Sarah’s wedding day. Our
high school had invited us back for an alumni
event. Our old homeroom teacher wanted us to
film a short video about our journeys since
graduation, something inspirational for the
current students. That’s how I ended up in
Josh’s car, driving around, following a pre-
planned route.
The filming went smoothly. On the way back, I
sat quietly by the window, watching the scenery
blur past. Josh’s phone rang. He instinctively
answered it through the car’s Bluetooth.
Sarah’s bright, cheerful voice filled the car.
“Josh! It’s my wedding today! I forgot to send
you an invitation. We’ve known each other for
so long, we’re friends. I’ll text you the time and
place.”
Silence followed the click of the disconnected
call. I was trying to decide how to tell him I’d
rather take a cab back when he suddenly made
a U–turn. I knew. He was going to the wedding.
