It was later than usual when I found myself back at the café. The city felt emptier that night, the streets quieter, like the world had pulled back and left just the two of us in this flickering corner of nowhere.
She didn't speak at first when I sat down. Just watched me, like she could see the cracks widening. Like she knew this night was different.
I didn't want to talk. But I didn't want to be alone either.
Finally, she spoke. Soft, careful.
"Can I ask you something?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
She hesitated, and that hesitation made it worse.
"If you could have one thing back," she said slowly, "what would it be?"
The question hit like a blow.
I opened my mouth…and nothing came out.
What would I have back?
Her?
The love?
Myself?
The moments I ruined?
The peace before I ever knew what it felt like to lose?
I couldn't answer. Every word that came to mind felt false. Every thought tangled, impossible.
"I don't know," I said finally, and it sounded so small. So empty. "I don't know what would make any of this matter again."
She didn't look surprised. She just nodded, as if she'd expected that.
"That's the hardest part, isn't it?" she said quietly. "Not knowing what you'd even want back."
The weight of her words sank into me, deeper than anything we'd said before.
And for the first time, I felt it, how close I really was to the edge. Not just the edge of the rooftop, or the bridge, or the night. The edge inside me. The one where there was nothing left to reach for.
We sat there, two shadows in the dim light, and I couldn't tell if she was saving me or watching me fall.
I left before dawn, walking out into the hollow city. Her question echoed in my mind, louder than the streets, louder than my thoughts.
What would I have back?
And I didn't know.
I still don't.