Hugs and Kisses

It was the kind of morning that looked like a memory: soft light spilled through the sheer curtains, and the air smelled faintly of toasted bread and jasmine tea. Mae stood barefoot in the kitchen, humming a forgotten tune as she buttered toast. Every movement was quiet, deliberate. Behind her, the apartment echoed with a silence too loud to ignore.

She turned at the sound of footsteps.

Eli emerged from the bedroom, suitcase in hand. He was dressed in the navy jacket she once bought him for their first anniversary. His hair was tousled, lips pressed into a straight line. He paused by the doorway, eyes flicking to her, then down to the floor.

Mae offered a small smile. "You’ll miss your train."

“I know.” His voice was hoarse, like it had been used all night saying the wrong things. “I just… I wanted one last breakfast.”

“Toast is all I had time for.”

“It’s perfect.”

They sat across from each other at the small round table, the kind you only buy when you think you'll have a hundred shared breakfasts, not just this last one. They didn’t eat much. Mostly, they watched each other and tried not to flinch at the weight of the unspoken.

Three years. That’s how long they’d lasted. Long enough to collect hundreds of kisses, thousands of hugs, and yet somehow not enough to hold them together.

Mae looked down at her tea. "I keep thinking about that trip to Montauk. You remember? We got caught in that thunderstorm and ran barefoot to the car."

"You wore that ridiculous straw hat that flew off and landed in the mud." Eli chuckled. "I ran after it like a fool."

"You looked like a knight rescuing a damsel’s crown," she said, laughing softly. "I fell in love with you all over again that day."

His eyes darkened with emotion. "Then why are we here, Mae?"

The question cut through the warmth. Mae swallowed hard, looking out the window.

"Because love isn't always enough," she whispered. "We want different things. I want to stay. You want to leave. And we’ve bent ourselves in every direction trying to make it work."

Eli looked down at his hands, the same hands that had traced poems into her back during sleepless nights. “I thought if I loved you hard enough, you’d come with me.”

"And I thought if I held on tight enough, you’d stay."

Silence wrapped around them again, tight and final. The clock ticked. The moment stretched.

Finally, Eli stood. “I should go.”

Mae followed him to the door. The hallway outside felt colder somehow, like it already knew he wouldn’t be back.

He hesitated, then turned and pulled her into an embrace. She fit against him like always—like the spaces between their bones were made for each other. His lips brushed her hairline, soft and trembling.

“One more kiss?” he asked, almost childlike.

She nodded.

It wasn’t a rushed, panicked goodbye kiss. It was slow, full of everything they never said. Her hands found the nape of his neck. His arms tightened around her waist. Time bent.

When they broke apart, neither could speak. But they didn’t have to. Every breath between them carried more weight than a thousand words.

As he turned to leave, Mae grabbed his hand.

“Wait.”

He looked back.

She held his palm to her cheek. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Wherever you go… if it ever gets too quiet, if you ever need someone to remind you of Montauk, or thunder, or burnt toast—come back. Just for a day.”

He gave her a half-smile, heartbroken but grateful. “Only if you promise to still be here.”

She nodded. “I’ll leave the light on.”

And with one last squeeze, he walked away.


---

Two years later.

Mae sat on the same kitchen chair, thumbing through a worn-out copy of Wuthering Heights. Outside, winter clung to the streets of the city. Snow fell softly, like blessings whispered by ghosts.

She still made two slices of toast every morning. Old habits didn’t vanish—they simply grew quieter.

A knock came at the door. Soft. Tentative.

Her breath caught.

She opened it slowly.

Eli stood there, snow in his hair, a suitcase by his feet, and that same navy jacket wrapped around him.

He looked older. Tired. But when he smiled, it was the same smile that had once chased a straw hat through the rain.

“Is the light still on?” he asked.

Mae didn’t speak. She stepped forward, wrapped her arms around his neck, and whispered into his coat:

“Where every goodbye begs for one more hello