I wonder whether you know that I had loved you, all that time ago. I wonder whether it would have actually meant something, your knowing, and whether it would have made a difference at all. I doubt that it would have.

I wonder whether you still remember those moments, the times we spent together. The dates, the late night phone calls, the dinners and the night-ins. I wonder whether you still care at all.

I wonder these things while I walk through the city streets; cold, upset, alone. I wonder these things when I pick up my coffee cup from the Starbucks down the block, the coffee shop that we always had breakfast at. I am wondering these things when I walk into the warm, cozy little franchise to see you with her.

I do not notice until I have reached the front of the line, my coffee order already given. I do not notice until I take a look around the place and spot the knitted red beanie that I had bought for you. You are wearing dark jeans; that hideous leather jacket that we had bought at the country fair and a checked scarf. The ensemble is ridiculous but you manage to look great in it. You always have a tendency to look great in everything. I freeze. It is as if, in that final moment of desperation, my mind had caved in and had started painting your image into my daily life.

It is only until you lean forward in your seat, towards her that I realize that it is not an illusion, and that you are not alone. The latter is apprehended with a sickening plop somewhere in my gut. For a strange millisecond, I fear that my insides have all disintegrated into a little more than ash. But my stomach rumbles again and I am assured that it has not. The hunger reminds me that I am still alive.

The girl before you has her back to me; and her hair flows in dark curls down her back. Her bare arms are tanned and she looks like the slight sort - five'five at the tallest. Your seat faces me but you do not see me. You never really did see me, did you? I see you lean forward, take her hand into yours and bring her fingers up to your lips.

My heart begins to thud.

As much as I want to walk away, to run back into my apartment and lick my wounds in private, I cannot. I am torn between elation at the sight of you and complete misery because you are with her.

It's been three weeks and you've started dating again?

The four years we had spent together must not have mattered at all, I cannot help the thought and the bitterness creeps up. It clouds my vision in the form of angry tears, and I feel my face begin to burn. I am beyond humiliated. You've brought her here, to this shop, to our shop. You have ...

I am too hurt to finish the final thought.

Startled into consciousness by the sound of my name being called, I turn to the counter to see the friendly barrister smiling my way. He has the take away cup in his hand. I try to smile in return but cannot. I grab the cup from his outstretched hand and murmur a small thanks instead. He barely hears it over the dim noise.

My eyes finally torn away, I tell myself not to look your way again. The last three weeks had been hard enough without the knowledge that you had moved on. I can only imagine what the next three weeks are going to be like now that I know.

But fate is working against me because suddenly, you are standing just a few meters away from me. The woman has her fingers interlaced through yours and she is smiling. She is beautiful, that much I can tell.

Very, very beautiful.

You are looking at her, whispering into her ear and then you turn. Our eyes lock and you stop moving. Your girlfriend stops too.

We stand there, in the middle of the rushing morning crowd, staring at each other. I press my fist to my side and push the tears away. It is humiliating enough to have met you here, but to have you see the tears? No, that was unacceptable. Surprisingly, I find the strength to smile up at you.

"Hello, Z," I say. My voice sounds strong, steady. It betrays nothing of the waves of emotion that threaten to overtake me. You do not reply. The girl beside you; pretty, pretty porcelain doll, glances at me, then back at you. It takes her a moment to realize the tension and she jumps into action.

You must have told her about me huh, Zayn?

"Hey, I'm Vanessa," she takes a step forward and offers her hand. I drag my eyes away from yours and take it. She has a weak grip; very feminine.

"Sandra," I tell her. She beams me a smile and I notice her dimples. She has dimples. The notches on her side increase by tenfold. I am beginning to see why you chose her.

You still say nothing and the silence makes me want to cry.

Vanessa takes another long look at you and then shrugs at me, she is trying to be polite. I begin to resent her.

"We have to go now," she tells me. The smile stays on. I nod at her, and then look back at you. Your eyes have moved away now, and you are studying the cup of coffee in my left hand. I can tell that you have noticed the missing ring. I want to tell you that I left it on my drawer, back home, but I do not. I have to remind myself that I owe you nothing.

"It's nice to see you again," you finally breathe, and your eyes find themselves on mine again. My facade begins to falter and I do not know what to say. I nod instead.

And then, Vanessa pulls you through the crowd and you are gone.

I stand there, still frozen, and wait for my pounding heart to slow down before I make my next move. My mind's eye keeps replaying the expression on your face. You had looked shocked, guilty. Why?

Finally, after a long moment, I find the necessary strength to propel myself forward, into the crowd and take the long walk back home.

It is only until I reach the safety of my apartment, shut the door and locked it that I fling myself onto my couch and let the tears free. And the realization that I had so desperately fought against finally hits home.

You have replaced me.

And the tears keep coming.

Notes

let's see how this goes, now shall we?
:)