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Chapter 2 - The City Where We Almost Stayed

Burried Hear

Chapter 2 – The City Where We Almost Stayed

The coffee had gone cold between them.

Ansh shifted, slowly setting his cup down on the carpet. Elina was still sitting against the opposite wall, legs tucked in, hands wrapped around the mug like she needed to hold on to something—anything—that didn't shake.

The silence wasn't heavy.

It was practiced.

Two people who had become fluent in not speaking.

"How long will this be?" he asked finally.

Elina looked up. "The trip?"

He nodded.

"Four cities. Five, maybe. Depends if you leave early."

"I might."

"I know."

She looked tired. Not the kind that sleep could fix. The kind that sat in your bones.

He rubbed his left hand slowly. The fingers had started to feel dull again. Not painful—just distant. Like they didn't belong to him anymore.

She didn't notice. Or if she did, she didn't ask.

They returned to their rooms in silence.

No goodnight.

No doors slammed.

Just a click. And then quiet.

Ansh stood by the mirror in the dim yellow light, pulled off his gloves, and studied his hands.

Left hand—fingers slow, weak grip. Same as yesterday. Slightly worse than last week.

He picked up a pen from the table and tried to write a single line in his notebook.

The pen slipped halfway through. His wrist trembled.

He set it down and opened the drawer. Pulled out the envelope the doctor had given him last Tuesday.

"Progressive." "Irreversible." Words that had stopped sounding medical and started sounding personal.

He shoved the paper back inside. Out of sight was easier.

Next morning, she knocked on his door. Light. Hesitant.

He opened it, already dressed.

"Train's in two hours," she said.

He nodded.

She noticed the gloves but didn't mention them.

Instead, she asked, "Breakfast?"

He hesitated. Then nodded again.

They sat at a small café near the station. Not the one tourists flocked to, but the kind where old men played cards and the radio crackled in Czech.

Elina stirred her tea longer than necessary. Ansh sipped his coffee in small, precise movements.

"I didn't think you'd come," she said finally.

"I didn't plan to."

"Then why?"

He looked out the window. A tram passed by, dragging fog in its wake.

"Because when someone disappears from your life," he said slowly, "you don't expect them to come back. And if they do… you answer. Even if you shouldn't."

She let that settle.

"I didn't come back to stay," she said.

He raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think you did."

"I came because I needed to know if I was making the right decision."

"You're marrying him." His tone was flat.

She nodded.

"Do you love him?"

She didn't answer immediately.

"He's good to me," she said instead.

"That's not what I asked."

"I don't know if I believe in that kind of love anymore."

He studied her face for a moment. "Then maybe you shouldn't be marrying anyone."

She smiled, faint and sad. "That's why I called you."

The train to their next city—Brno—was almost empty.

They sat facing each other, the landscape rolling by slowly behind the glass.

For a while, neither spoke.

Then Elina asked, "Do you remember the apartment we saw here?"

"In Prague?"

She nodded. "Two rooms, high windows, peeling yellow walls."

"You said it had character."

"You said it had mold."

He allowed a small smirk.

"I used to think if we had taken it… maybe things would've been different."

"Maybe," he said. "Or maybe we would've broken down sooner."

She looked out the window.

"You ever think about it?"

"Every version of it."

When the train stopped for a brief ten-minute halt, Ansh stepped off onto the platform to stretch his legs. The cold bit at his fingers even through the gloves.

He tried flexing them. Only half responded.

He turned away from the crowd and leaned against the wall near the restroom, trying to shake the sensation back into his hand.

He didn't hear her approach.

"You okay?" she asked.

He stiffened. "Yeah. Just the cold."

"You always used to forget your gloves."

"Not anymore."

She didn't push. Just stood beside him.

"You're quieter than I remember," she said softly.

"You're not," he replied.

She glanced at him. "Is that a complaint?"

"No," he said. "Just an observation."

Back on the train, the atmosphere shifted.

Softer. More loaded.

She reached into her bag and pulled out an old journal. The same brown-leather one she used to carry everywhere.

"I still write sometimes," she said.

He looked at it. "Same stories?"

"No. Different endings now."

"You ever write about me?"

She hesitated. Then: "I used to. Not anymore."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't like how they ended."

That night, in the new hotel in Brno, Ansh sat on the floor again. Habit, maybe. Or comfort.

Elina knocked.

He didn't ask her in. She came anyway.

This time, she didn't bring coffee.

Just silence.

She sat next to him, not across. Close, but not touching.

"Why did we fall apart?" she asked suddenly.

He didn't answer.

She tried again. "Was it time? Life? Me?"

He looked at her.

"It was everything," he said. "And it was nothing."

She leaned her head back against the wall. "Do you think we could've survived it?"

He took a long breath. "We didn't."

When she left the room, he stayed there. Lights off. Eyes open.

And somewhere, beneath the numbness in his hand and the sharpness in his chest,

was a memory of a city they almost stayed in.

And the love they almost got right.

[End of Chapter 2]

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