A Love Too Alive to Die

A Love Too Alive to Die, Too Broken to Survive

It had been three years since they last touched.

The coffee shop was the same as it had always been—dimly lit, with soft jazz playing in the background and the smell of burnt espresso clinging to the corners. Elia sat by the window, her fingers curled around a chipped mug. She watched the rain streak down the glass like time itself had started to weep.

Then she felt it—his presence. It was something her skin remembered before her mind could catch up.

“Luca,” she said, without turning.

“I thought I’d never see you here again,” he said, his voice lower, like it had aged with the years. He slid into the seat across from her.

They didn’t touch. They didn’t smile. The weight of what they were—what they had been—filled the space between them like fog.

Elia looked at him. He still wore his shirts one size too big, his hair still curled at the ends, and he still had that same tired softness in his eyes, the kind people carried after surviving a war they couldn’t name.

“You still order black coffee,” she said.

“You still wear that ring,” he replied, nodding to her hand.

Elia looked down. The thin silver band on her middle finger was simple, barely noticeable. It wasn’t an engagement ring, or a promise—just a memory she couldn’t bring herself to take off.

“It reminds me,” she said.

“Of us?”

“No,” she said, gently. “Of me. Of who I was when I loved you.”

Luca exhaled, like she’d said something he didn’t want to hear but already knew.

“I never stopped,” he said. “Loving you.”

“I know.”

The rain fell harder outside, drumming against the window in patterns that almost sounded like a heartbeat.

“Why are we like this?” he asked. “Why does love like ours end, when others survive on so much less?”

Elia didn’t have an answer. There were a thousand reasons, and none. The truth was scattered among the nights they screamed at each other, the mornings they stayed in bed too long trying to pretend they hadn’t. It lived in the little betrayals, the unspoken wounds, the way they both wanted to be chosen—but neither knew how to choose.

“We wanted the same things,” she said, “but we didn’t know how to have them together. You needed to be free. I needed to be certain. And we pulled each other apart trying to give what we didn’t have.”

Luca nodded. “And now?”

“I’m certain,” she said. “But I’m not free.”

Luca looked down. “She makes you happy?”

Elia hesitated. “He’s kind. And calm. He doesn’t make me feel like I’m drowning just to feel something.”

He smiled bitterly. “So you chose peace.”

“I chose survival,” she said. “After you, I didn’t think I’d be able to stand still again.”

They were quiet. Outside, a child ran past the window, laughing under a red umbrella. Elia’s eyes followed the child until they were gone.

“I still dream about you,” Luca said.

“I don’t dream about you,” she answered. “But sometimes, when I’m lying next to him, I feel your hand in my hair.”

“That’s worse,” he said.

“I know.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “If we had another chance—”

“We’d burn again,” she interrupted. “Just slower this time.”

She reached across the table and took his hand. It felt both foreign and familiar—like coming home to a house you no longer live in.

“I will always love you,” she whispered.

“But we can’t go back,” he said.

“No,” she agreed, eyes shimmering. “Because the version of us that loved each other best died the moment we stopped being brave.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her. And for a moment, time folded—he saw her laughing on that summer rooftop, saw the way she danced barefoot in his kitchen, the way she cried when she told him she couldn’t do it anymore. All of her, all at once.

“I wish I could’ve held on better,” he said.

“I wish you’d known how,” she replied.

Their hands lingered a moment longer. Then Elia pulled away, stood up, and placed a few bills on the table.

“I should go.”

“Will I see you again?” he asked.

She smiled sadly. “Not like this.”

And then she was gone, swallowed by the grey streets and the aching rain.

Luca sat alone, watching the space she’d left behind. He raised his cold coffee to his lips, and for a moment, the bitterness tasted like goodbye.