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.

Alvarez's POV

 The glass slipped from my hand and shattered against the kitchen floor. I barely noticed. My chest was pounding so hard it felt like the walls were pressing in, and I hated that even now, even when she was gone, my first thought was her name. Maya. I cursed under my breath and leaned against the counter, staring at the shards scattered across the tiles. A part of me wanted to leave them there, let them cut into my feet until I bled, just so the pain would make sense. But another part of me hated the mess, hated how it reminded me of what she said the night she left. "You ruin everything you touch, Alvarez. Even me." I squeezed my eyes shut, hearing her voice like it was yesterday. I wanted to scream, to tear through the silence of this apartment, but the only sound was the ringing in my head. That was when the knock came. Sharp. Impatient. I thought about ignoring it. But whoever was on the other side kept going, knocking louder until it was almost a rhythm. With a sigh that came out more like a growl, I opened the door. It was Diego. My cousin. He strolled in without asking, his messy curls damp with sweat like he had jogged all the way here. "You look like hell," he said, kicking his shoes off. "What's going on?" "What do you think?" I muttered, grabbing a towel to pick up the glass pieces. "She's gone. And apparently, I'm the reason." Diego leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. He had that smug expression, the one that made me want to punch him even though he was the closest thing I had to a brother. "You're really going to let her walk away like that? Just like that?" "You don't get it." My voice was rougher than I intended. "You didn't hear the way she looked at me. Like I was... already dead to her." Diego shook his head. "No, man. That's not what I see. What I see is a guy who's too scared to fight. You used to fight for everything. What happened to you?" I slammed the towel down, glass clinking inside it. "What happened? She happened! I loved her, and it wasn't enough. Nothing I did was ever enough." For a long second, Diego didn't move. Then he said quietly, "Or maybe you just stopped listening. Women don't leave because they stop loving. They leave because they get tired of repeating themselves." That hit deeper than I wanted to admit. I turned away from him, scrubbing at the counter like it mattered. "Whatever," I muttered. "She'll be happier without me." "Is that what you believe, or what you tell yourself so you don't have to try?" Diego's tone was sharp now. "Because, Alvarez, if you let her go without a fight, then maybe you never deserved her in the first place." I spun around, my jaw clenched. "Shut the hell up, Diego." He just shrugged. "I'm not the one you're angry at. You know who it is." The truth hung heavy in the air. I hated him for being right, and I hated myself more for feeling powerless. --- Later that night, after Diego left, I found myself scrolling through my phone. Maya's name lit up in my contacts, glowing against the dark screen. I hovered over it like a coward. Call her? Text her? Beg her? No. She wouldn't answer. Instead, I opened a different chat. Sofia. Sofia was my coworker. The kind who always laughed a little too loudly at my jokes, who leaned in a little too close during meetings. Nothing ever happened between us-at least not yet-but Maya always noticed. She used to accuse me of enjoying Sofia's attention. Maybe she wasn't wrong. My fingers hesitated before typing. You up? The reply came faster than it should have. For you, always. A part of me felt sick. Another part craved the distraction. An hour later, Sofia was at my door with two bottles of cheap wine and a smile that told me she had been waiting for this moment. I let her in, even though every cell in my body screamed that I shouldn't. We drank. We laughed. She touched my arm, then my shoulder, leaned in close enough for me to smell her perfume. I should have pulled away. I didn't. Her lips brushed mine, and for a second I kissed her back. But then-Maya. The image of her crying, begging me to prove I cared, the way her hands shook when she packed her bag. It crashed over me like a wave, and I pulled away, shoving Sofia back gently but firmly. "Don't," I said, my voice breaking. "Just don't." Her face hardened. "So I'm good enough to drink with, to flirt with, but not good enough for this? You really are a mess, Alvarez." She grabbed her purse and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. And there I was. Alone. My chest ached. My head throbbed. I thought of Maya again, and the guilt was unbearable. She would never believe that I stopped it. She would only believe what she already feared. That I had betrayed her. And maybe, in some twisted way, I had. I sank onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. For the first time in years, I let myself cry. Not the quiet kind. The ugly kind. The kind that left me gasping for air like I was drowning. Because no matter how I spun it, one truth cut deeper than any glass on that kitchen floor. Maya was gone. And if she ever found out what almost happened tonight, she would never come back.