Alvarez's POV

 "Guess what, man. I fucked her. She was easy. You should have seen her face." The words left my mouth and hit wrong instantly. The guys at the table laughed and slapped my back like I'd scored some kind of point, but their noise only made the ache inside me worse. I forced a grin and downed the rest of my beer while the bar spun softly around me. I should have walked away. I should have stopped before saying it. But once the words were out, there was no taking them back. Diego leaned in, his voice low. "Alvarez, you're not doing yourself any favours, man. You know that, right?" "Yeah, I know," I muttered. My voice felt hollow, empty. I scanned the room, hoping for a way out. People were wrapped in small groups, talking, laughing, living. None of them knew the weight in my chest. None of them knew the sharp pull of guilt clawing at me. On the walk home, the city blurred into streaks of light and soft noise. I walked fast, hands shoved into my pockets. My mind replayed the fight with Maya, the argument that had started small and turned into a wound I couldn't repair. I saw her standing in the doorway, calm at first, then shattered when she heard what I said. Her body curled in on itself like she'd been hit. What I did was stupid. I knew it. I kept telling myself the other man was nothing, a lapse, a moment of weakness where my ugly side got the better of me. But picturing her crying into the pillow made the taste of pride in my mouth turn bitter. I got home, and the apartment felt emptier than usual. No sound of her making tea. No little notes left on the fridge. No laughter. I collapsed onto the couch, phone blinking in the dark. Her number stayed dark. No reply, no angry voice, no silence that meant she was thinking of me. Nothing but my own breath, loud in my ears. The next morning, my mom was in the kitchen before the sun. She moved with that quiet grace, like she held the house together in her hands. She looked up as I shuffled in, not surprised, just watchful. "You look tired," she said softly. The words made me feel small. I shrugged, pushed cereal into a bowl, and sat while she watched. I couldn't keep the truth from her. I couldn't hide anything. "It's Maya, isn't it?" she asked after a long pause. I kept my eyes on the spoon, scraping it against the bowl. "We fought," I admitted. Saying it aloud made it real. She sat across from me, hands folded. "Did you do something to hurt her?" Her voice was calm, but heavy. "I said some things," I admitted. I wanted to shift blame, to say it wasn't all me, but the truth was sharp and clean. I cheated. I let a moment of weakness become a weapon, and I'd used it as proof that she didn't need me. "Alvarez," she said softly, then went quiet. The kind of silence that meant she was trying to find the words I needed to hear. "You need to fix it." I wanted to tell her I could. I wanted to tell her I'd climb to her window if I had to, beg, kneel, promise. But I looked down at my hands, the same hands that had caused this mess, and felt like a stranger. I didn't know how to promise to be different without it sounding empty. Later that afternoon, I ran into Leah by chance at the corner store. She stood with a list, eyes cold. The moment she saw me she dropped her bag and approached like she would fight if I stepped away. "You know what you did?" she demanded. No small talk, no easing in. Just truth thrown at me. "Yeah," I said, because there was nothing else. "Do you know how much she cries?" Her voice tightened, and I flinched under it. "Do you know how she walks around like she's waiting for a train that never comes? Stop making it worse." Her words stuck to my skin. I tried to shrug them off, but they didn't leave. I watched her walk off, clutching the bag like it was armour. That night I found myself on her street. I didn't know why. Maybe I thought the house would open if I knocked loud enough. Maybe I wanted to see the place where she had left. Maybe I wanted to punish myself with the sight of the door she had shut on me. Across the street, her window glowed faintly. I watched for a long time. I wanted to see her silhouette, to know she was okay. But it was just the porchlight. An empty porch. A quiet home. A life I had helped break. My phone buzzed endlessly with messages. Friends checking in. People were asking if I was okay. I left them all unanswered. Speaking would make it real. Owning what I'd done would make it permanent. Back in my apartment, I paced. Memories came at me like knives. The first time she laughed at something stupid I said. Getting lost on the ferry and laughing about it. Mornings curled in bed while rain tapped the windows, half promises spilling between us. And then the bad. Nights I stayed out and ignored her calls. Shouting matches over tiny things that became everything. Times I let pride keep me silent when I should have admitted I was wrong. I sat at my desk and opened my messages. The texts I had sent after the bar stared back at me, harsher than I remembered. I wanted to smash the phone against the wall. I typed and deleted a few times before finally sending a small, stupid message. I asked her to meet me, to let me explain. I hit send before reason could stop me. The three little dots appeared. Her typing. My chest jumped. And then it stopped. No new message. My hands went cold. Not frozen, just empty. She had read it. Maybe she was already walking away. I left the apartment, walking without thinking. I ended up at the old park where we used to go late at night. A bench under the tree where we had once sat and talked about nothing important. I sat, face in hands, and felt the weight crushing me. Pride was heavy. Guilt heavier. Fear was the worst. Fear that she would find someone steady and kind. Fear that the easy, beautiful moments I took for granted would belong to another man. I didn't want that. I wanted her to come back, to forgive me, to rebuild what we had. But rebuilding sounded like a repair with no guarantees. What if the cracks were too wide to ever fix? I stayed on the bench until the sky lightened. People passed, going about their lives. The world didn't stop for me. It didn't slow down for the mess I had made. When I finally walked back, my legs felt heavier than ever. I opened the door, went straight to my desk, and whispered to the empty apartment, "I could have fixed us." No answer came. Silence was all that waited, and I sat with the truth that maybe I had already made it impossible.

Alvarez's POV

 "Say her name one more time, Diego, and I'll break your jaw." The words exploded out of me before I could stop them. They hung in the air between us, hot and sharp. The bar wasn't crowded, but loud enough that people turned their heads at my voice. Diego froze, cue stick half raised, his eyes narrowing like he wasn't sure if I was bluffing or dead serious. I wasn't bluffing. He set the cue down slowly, leaning it against the pool table before crossing his arms over his chest. His stare pinned me the way only family could, with history and blood behind it. "You're not angry at me, Alvarez. You're angry at yourself." I took another swallow of my beer, forcing the burn down my throat. I didn't answer right away. I hated that he could cut through me like that, hated that the truth sat so close under my skin I couldn't breathe without feeling it. Diego didn't let up. "You cheated. You lied. You made her feel like she wasn't enough. That's not on her. That's on you." My grip tightened around the bottle until I thought it might shatter in my hand. "Shut up," I snapped. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't replay it every damn night?" His mouth pressed into a thin line. "Then why do you act like she ruined your life? You're the one who ruined hers." For a second, I almost swung at him. Not because he was wrong, but because he was too right. The truth sat in my chest like a stone, heavy and choking. If I admitted it out loud, if I owned every piece of what I'd done, then I'd have to admit I didn't deserve her. That may be I never had. I shoved the bottle onto the table and yanked my jacket from the back of the chair. "I'm done talking." I didn't wait for him to answer. I stormed out, boots slamming against the floor, past the dartboard and the old jukebox humming in the corner. The night air hit my face as soon as I shoved open the door. Cool. Sharp. Not enough to calm me. I walked fast, hands shoved deep into my pockets, but the storm only got louder inside my head. Maya. Always Maya. No matter how many nights I told myself I didn't care, no matter how many bottles I drained trying to forget, she stayed. Her laugh. Her tears. Her eyes were the night she caught me lying. I'd lost her, and the worst part was knowing I'd handed her reasons to walk away. The next afternoon, I heard it. Not from Diego, not from my cousins, but from one of our friends who thought he was being casual. He said he saw Maya at the café with some guy. Tall. Clean cut. Leaning across the counter, she made her laugh. The words sank into me like a knife. I laughed it off, pretended I didn't care. But as soon as I was alone, the picture of it wrapped around my chest and squeezed until I couldn't breathe. Her head tilting back. Her hair slips forward. That smile that used to belong to me. I slammed my fist into the wall of my apartment so hard the plaster cracked and pain jolted up my arm. I welcomed it. Pain was easier to carry than the image of her smiling at someone else. Later that week, I found myself on my mother's porch. She was watering her flowers, the same red ones she's babied since I was a kid. The air smelled like wet earth. She didn't look at me when she spoke. "You're restless," she said. "You've been pacing like a caged animal." "I'm fine." "You're not fine." She set the watering can down and finally looked at me, her dark eyes steady. "Is it because of Maya?" I clenched my jaw so hard it ached. I didn't answer. "She was good for you," my mother said softly. "But you pushed her away. And now you're punishing yourself instead of fixing it." Her words stung worse than Diego's, maybe because there was no anger in them. Only truth. That night I caved. I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering over her name. I typed fast, like ripping open a wound. Who's the guy you're smiling with? You think he's better than me? I stared at the words, chest pounding. If I sent it, I'd look desperate. Pathetic. But if I erased it, I'd feel weak. I deleted it. Typed again. Maya, can we talk? Simple. Honest. But my pride screamed louder. She hadn't reached out to me. She hadn't answered the few times I tried before. She was moving on. Maybe she already had. I stared at that screen until my eyes blurred, the glow painting my face in the dark. My thumb hovered over send. My heart told me to do it. My pride told me to throw the phone across the room. In the end, I did nothing. I set the phone down, leaned back in the chair, and let the silence close in. It felt heavier than any fight I'd ever been in, heavier than any night I'd spent alone. I whispered into the dark like a man losing his mind. "She was mine." The echo came back hollow, like even the walls didn't believe me anymore. And for the first time, I wondered if I had already lost her forever.

Maya's POV

 "Stop telling me to move on, Clara! You think it's that easy? You think I can just erase him like he never touched me, like he never ruined me?" The words came out sharp and raw, louder than I meant. My cousin's eyes widened, and for a second the kitchen went quiet except for the hum of the fridge. Clara had been leaning against the counter with her coffee, but now she set the mug down slowly, like she was afraid to set me off even more. "I didn't say it was easy," she said carefully. "I said you deserve better. And he's not coming back, Maya." The ache in my chest twisted, and I pressed my hands against the countertop just to keep myself steady. I hated it when she said that. Not because it wasn't true, but because part of me wanted it not to be. Clara moved closer, her voice softer now. "He hurt you. We all saw it. And if you keep holding onto him, you're just going to bleed longer." I blinked hard and grabbed my bag from the chair. "I have work. I don't have time for this." She sighed but didn't push further. Clara always meant well, but she didn't understand. Nobody did. They hadn't felt the way Alvarez could look at me one moment like I was the only girl in the world, and then rip me apart the next. They hadn't felt the way my heart broke when I finally realised he wasn't going to change. I walked fast to the café, needing the distraction of routine. The bell above the door chimed as I stepped inside, and the familiar scent of coffee and cinnamon wrapped around me. This place was my safe ground. My escape. "Morning, Maya," called Becca, my friend and coworker, already tying her apron behind the counter. "Morning," I managed with a small smile. We started the morning rush, and for a while I lost myself in it - the sound of the espresso machine hissing, the clatter of cups, the steady stream of customers ordering their usuals. It was busy, but in a way that kept my mind from spinning. Then Ethan walked in. Tall, clean cut, dressed in a simple shirt that somehow fit him too well. He had that easy kind of charm, the type that didn't feel like he was trying too hard. The first time he'd come in, I'd thought nothing of it. Just another face. But lately, I caught myself noticing him. "Hey, Maya," he said with a smile that reached his eyes. "The usual." I nodded, trying not to let my cheeks warm. "Coming right up." As I moved behind the counter, I felt Becca nudge me lightly with her elbow. "He likes you," she whispered, grinning. "Stop," I muttered, focusing on the machine. "I'm serious. He looks at you like you hung the moon. You should let him take you out." I shook my head. "It's not like that." "Not yet," she teased. When I handed Ethan his coffee, his fingers brushed mine for a second longer than they needed to. My chest tightened, but not in the same way it used to with Alvarez. It was lighter, safer, but also unfamiliar. "Thanks," he said, his smile soft. "You look... brighter today." The words caught me off guard. For a heartbeat, I almost believed him. After he left, Clara walked in to meet me for lunch. She spotted the empty cup Ethan had left on the table and raised an eyebrow. "So that's him," she said, sliding into the seat across from me. I rolled my eyes. "It's just coffee." "Maya, please. I saw the way he looked at you. And I saw the way you tried not to look back." I picked at my sandwich, not meeting her gaze. "Even if I wanted to, it wouldn't matter. I'm not ready." Clara reached across the table, her hand warm on mine. "No one's telling you to marry the guy. Just... let yourself feel something that doesn't hurt." Her words settled in me like a stone in water, sinking slowly. Maybe she was right. Maybe Ethan wasn't a fix, but a reminder that I could still smile, that I could still be seen. But later that night, when I was alone in my room, the weight of Alvarez returned. His shadow stretched long, even with Ethan's smile still fresh in my mind. I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, the silence pressing in. I thought about the way Alvarez used to whisper my name when no one else was around. The way his hand fit against mine even when everything else felt wrong. And I hated him for it. Hated that even now, even after everything, part of me still wanted him to come back. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, but when I picked it up, it was just Clara sending me a funny video. I laughed, but it faded quickly. Because the truth was, no matter how much I tried, no matter how much Ethan made me smile, Alvarez's ghost was still in the room with me. And I didn't know how to let him go.