Through Light and Shadow

"Ten bucks for two?" I asked, flashing the man at the counter a smile.

He sighed, muttering a reluctant, "Fine," under his breath.

"You're a really persuasive lady, you know that?" he added, voice laced with grudging amusement.

I grinned. He's not wrong. Persuasive? Sure. But, honestly, the books I was buying—though top-rated—were worn, pages yellowed and spines cracked. A bargain was a bargain.

As he rang up my purchase, something unexpected happened. He carefully wrapped each book in smooth brown paper, tying them with neat, graceful bows. His hands—rough, weathered—moved with surprising delicacy. Then came the final touch: a stamped seal pressed onto the paper, the wax glistening faintly. He slipped the books into a paper bag and, to my surprise, added a single tulip inside.

I blinked. A tulip?

"Wow," I murmured, running my fingers over the petals. Real. It even smelled faintly sweet. "Where'd you get these tulips?" New York wasn't exactly known for fields of them.

"From the ground," he replied dryly, lips curling into a half-hearted smile that didn't reach his eyes.

I chuckled under my breath. Fair enough.

His shop was the kind of cozy that people chase—warm lights, shelves crowded with forgotten stories—but he didn't match it. His flannel shirt, his careful packaging... all inviting. But his personality? Like someone who'd lost their softness along the way, leaving only the gruff exterior.

Still, I just smiled, thanked him, and stepped out into the cool air.

What a weird man, I thought. Reminds me of my father. That same grumpy shell with something gentler buried beneath. He had that look—a face creased with years but eyes that had seen kindness... somewhere. Fifties? Sixties? I shrugged. Didn't matter. Odds were, I'd be back the next time I needed another book fix.

My phone buzzed, pulling me from my thoughts. I glanced at the screen.

Luka.

The name alone sent a jolt through me. My smile vanished. I hit ignore and powered off my phone.

Not now. Not him.

My chest tightened. What he did last night... I squeezed my eyes shut. Unacceptable didn't even begin to cover it. I should've seen it coming. God, how had I let myself be fooled? Maybe it was his smile—that effortless charm that reeled me in. Charming. I scoffed out loud. How pathetic was I? Falling for the same lines, believing in the same illusions. The red flags had been waving from day one.

And yet...

My mind spiraled back to that moment—the sound. The unmistakable, soul-crushing sound echoing from our bedroom. Clothes scattered like debris across the floor. I didn't even see her face. I didn't need to.

That's why I'd gone book shopping. To escape. To shove something—anything—between me and the memory clawing at my brain.

But now, standing on the sidewalk...

I looked up.

And froze.

No. No, no, no.

His apartment building loomed above me. What the hell— My breath caught. Muscle memory. That's what it was. When my head got too loud, my body—traitorous thing—had dragged me here. Straight to him. Like I was still that girl who ran home to him when the world got hard.

Five years. Five years. I'd weathered every tiny heartbreak, every brush-off, just to stay by his side. And in one night—one night—it all crumbled.

I glanced at the door. My fingers itched to reach for the handle. To... what? Scream at him? Demand answers? Beg?

No.

My throat tightened, eyes burning—but no tears came. Just anger. Pure, searing anger.

He doesn't deserve my tears.

Or so I thought.

If my flight hadn't been delayed until this evening, I wouldn't have found out about any of this. On the bright side—if I can even call it that—the airline offered compensation and a hotel room for the inconvenience. I should've taken it. But no, I chose to go home... chose him. I just wanted to spend time with him. And what did I find?

I clenched my jaw, trying to push the image out of my head. God, I don't want to think about it again.

Turning away from his apartment door, I hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address of my hotel. I ended up paying for the room myself, how could I not accept their offer?

The moment I stepped into my room, I collapsed into the armchair, exhaustion hitting me like a wave. I reached for the books I'd bought earlier, tearing into the packaging as if they held the key to forgetting. I read. And read. And read—until the sun dipped below the horizon and darkness swallowed the city.

It was a fantasy novel. No romance—just magic, power, and war. Exactly what I needed. No messy emotions. No betrayals. Just worlds where battles are fought with swords, not hearts. I couldn't remember the last time I'd read fantasy... God, it must've been a decade ago—back when I was sixteen.

Sixteen. Back when life was simpler. When my biggest worry was a piece of paper that decided my future. When I still lived under my parents' roof, ate my mom's cooking. Her chicken soup... God, I miss it. I felt a lump rise in my throat. Without thinking, I turned on my phone. It hadn't even finished booting up when another name flashed across the screen.

Luka.

I froze. The call ended before I could react, replaced by a notification that made my stomach drop.

54 missed calls.

Fifty-four.

I stared at the number, heart pounding, dread clawing up my chest. Then the messages flooded in—his name, over and over, mixed with texts from friends he'd reached out to, coworkers asking if I was okay, even my parents checking in.

He was everywhere.

Somehow, he's seeped into every part of my life, like a shadow I can't shake.

The tears I'd been holding back finally fell. A silent scream tore from my lips, my entire body trembling with the weight of it. My heart shattered into a million pieces. It wasn't just the cheating—it was how deeply he had embedded himself into my life that crushed me the most. His eyes when he looked at me. His voice, soft and reassuring. The way he effortlessly charmed every person I cared about.

If that flight hadn't been delayed, I'd be in Europe by now—working while he called to check in, maybe FaceTiming me to see the view of my temporary office. Or maybe—no. Stop. Stop thinking about him. Just stop.

I needed air. Air that didn't feel suffocating. Grabbing my bag, I rushed out of the hotel, my breaths shallow and uneven.

I didn't hail a taxi. I just... walked. No direction. No destination. Just me and the fragments of a life that no longer felt like mine.