We were infront of her cafe.
Sam said
"Are you coming?"
"Give me some time."
I didn't go in.
Just sat on the step. Arms folded. Knees stiff. Back against the wooden wall, head tipped toward the half-lit sign flickering above.
Inside, I heard that voice.
"…you should go, Sam. It's late. I need to lock up."
Laughed a little when she said it. That soft, tired laugh. The one that used to live in my chest.
I stayed outside.
Because what do you say to someone you ghosted?
The wind picked up. Brought the scent of burnt sugar and cheap coffee. Familiar. Intimate. Cruel.
I closed my eyes. Listened.
Maybe that would be enough. Just… this. The outline of her, still real.
But it wasn't.
Because breathing her voice and doing nothing was just another form of dying.
I stood.
My legs felt wrong. Detached. Like I'd borrowed them from someone braver.
The café door creaked as I pushed it open.
Lantern light spilled onto my boots.
She was behind the counter. Sam at the stool. Her hand still on the drawer, halfway through counting bills. Still.Then she saw me.
Froze.
I didn't meet her eyes.
"Give me a moment," I said.
And everything else—air, breath, time—just stopped.
Sam was waiting outside now that I wanted to apologize to her.
She placed the coffee in front of me.
Same chipped cup. Same dark roast. No sugar. Just like always.
I didn't say thank you.
And I know she didn't expect it from a coward like me.
The chair creaked as she sat down across from me. Not too close.
Like she wasn't sure I was infront of her after so long.
Silence swelled—quiet and mean.
Then her voice cut in, sharp and casual, like she was asking a neighbor for spare matches.
"How's your wife? And your son?"
I blinked at the coffee.
Didn't look up.
"I'm not here to talk about them," I said, voice low. "I'm here for my fucking apology."
Her brow lifted—but she didn't interrupt.
"You didn't do it on purpose," she said, calmly. "You didn't know it was him."
I clenched my fist under the table. The words didn't help. They never did.
"I still pulled the trigger."
She didn't argue.
"I hated you for a while," she said next, quieter. "A month. Maybe more."
Her hands wrapped around her cup. White knuckles. Pink fingertips.
"But even when I hated you… I wanted you to come back."
My throat burned.
"I wanted you," she repeated. "But you disappeared."
A pause.
"You never came to the commune meetings again. Not even when they shifted the Hoa Lu Festival to our outpost."
I winced.
She kept going.
"Trang An. Thai Vi. Bai Dinh. You were on the rosters. Every single year."
She looked straight through me.
"But you never showed your face."
I thought to myself-
Two years.I knew every shift in that land. Every lantern strung across the gates.
Every hymn. Every drumbeat. Every scent of burnt joss and river fog.
I could've come. Could've stood at the edge.
Instead I paced the fence line.
And turned back every goddamn time.
Because facing a firing squad would've been easier than looking into her eyes.
Then I spoke
"I was nearby," I admitted. Voice flat. "I saw the banners. Heard the prayers."
She didn't blink.
"Then why didn't you walk in?"
I met her eyes this time.
"Because grief made me unable too. And I wasn't good enough to be by your side."
The silence that followed was full of emotions for me atleast.
Of years. Of rot. Of everything unsaid.
She stared into her cup for a long time.
Then:
"I moved on."
Soft. Simple. Almost merciful.Like she was offering me release.But it didn't feel like mercy.
It felt like a blade slowly turning in my ribs.
I nodded once. Too fast. Like I was pretending it didn't matter.
And then I laughed.
Short. Hollow. A broken sound that didn't belong in my throat.
"I couldn't."
My hands trembled on the ceramic, the coffee untouched. Still warm.
"I tried," I said. "I swear I tried."
I shook my head, smiling like a madman while my vision blurred.
"But you know what I realized?"
My voice cracked. Just a little.
"I never figured out what the fuck I did wrong."
The laugh came again—sharper this time, like it was slicing my own mouth open.
"I followed orders. I checked targets. I ran every fucking protocol."
The cup slipped from my fingers. Didn't shatter. Just rolled. Quietly.
"But Bao still died. And you… you were so close yet so far."
A pause.
And then—
My breath caught.
The tears came slow.Just drops leaking from some old, forgotten place inside.
"I couldn't move on," I whispered. "I couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat without seeing your face after."
I wiped at my eyes, but it didn't help. The shaking got worse.
"And when you smiled at me, back there—when I walked in… after all this time…"
I looked up at her.
"It fucking ruined me."
She didn't speak at first.
Just watched me—eyes soft, mouth still.
The silence stretched, wrapped itself around my throat like a scarf soaked in memory.
And then—
She stood.
Walked around the table.
Her steps were slow, deliberate, like she was still deciding if I was worth it.
I didn't move.
I couldn't.
My breath hitched when her hand touched my jaw—light, unsure, real.
And then she leaned in.
Her lips met mine.
Warm. Familiar. Not perfect. A little bitter, like her coffee.
Like home.
I didn't kiss back right away. My body had forgotten how. My mind was still catching up to the fact that she was here.
Touching me.
Forgiving me.
When she pulled back, she didn't let go.
Her forehead rested against mine.
And she whispered—
"I'd be there for you. No matter what."
Simple.Unbreakable.I closed my eyes.
I exhaled.
My hands moved before my thoughts did.
I pulled her closer.
Not roughly but you get it. I ain't a great narrator and atleast not when something like this happened.
But here's what I can explain-
It was the kind of kiss that says everything I never had the courage to write.
Everything I buried under silence, reports, and field ops.
She gasped a little, but didn't pull away. Her fingers curled in my shirt. Her breath tasted like rice wine and memory.
Two years of guilt and longing crashed into that moment like thunder.
And then—
A cough.
Followed by the most Sam-like sound imaginable:
"Umm."
We froze. My lips still barely against hers. Her hand still at my chest.
Sam stood at the doorway. His silhouette framed in the glow of the café's flickering lantern.
He scratched his head, clearly trying not to smile.
"So... have you apologized?"
He gestured to his watch.
"We're kinda on the clock. We are going out tommorow morning remember?"
I leaned back, exhaled through a crooked grin.
"Yeah," I said, still staring at her. "I did."
She smirked—just slightly. Bit her lip.
Sam sighed. "Good. Then let's move. Before Command thinks you defected for love or some shit."
I stood. My hand brushed against hers.
She didn't let go right away.
And neither did I.
She said
"Sam why don't you get a coffee too? You guys are atleast going out for 5-7 months right?"
Sam didn't resist.
There was a silence after Sam's words. Not awkward. Not tense. Just... suspended.
Toui busied herself behind the counter—grinding beans she didn't need to grind, wiping cups that were already clean.
I sat there, fingers drumming against the ceramic, heartbeat louder than the tick of the old wall clock.
Sam sipped the coffee. Looked at both of us like he wasn't sure if he should smile or duck.
Something about the moment felt stretched, like time had paused to see what we'd choose—
Forgiveness or regret.
Stay or go.
Then Toui came back to the table, set down another cup, and said softly,
"So... you guys are really leaving, huh?"
I stared down at the coffee. It didn't want to look into her eyes.
"Yes " replied the bastard.
She said "I thought we were getting back but seems like I'd have to find somone. Hmm."
"I guess," I muttered, "maybe I should find someone too."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "You could start with that new medic."
I blinked.
"What medic?"
"The one on our team."
I frowned. "We haven't even met her yet."
Sam shrugged. "You don't have to meet someone to notice when they stare a second too long."
I scoffed. "She's eighteen. That's... six years."
He smirked. "Age gaps are war-seasoned, my guy. Yours just happens to come with blood and body counts."
I didn't laugh.
I stirred the coffee even though I wasn't going to drink it.
"She probably still asks permission to sign into mess," I said. "Probably still believes the good guys win."
He didn't respond.
We both knew I wasn't talking about her.
I thought to myself
I don't want something easy.
Not something new.
I want the ache. The history. The thousand small betrayals and the hundred moments of grace.
I want someone who's already memorized the version of me I can't even stand to be.
And she's gone.
By the time we were leaving, things felt… lighter.
Just less broken.
We talked like before—old stories, dumb jokes, small café complaints about the electricity cutting out every two days.
But there was a leash to it.
Like we both knew this couldn't stretch too far without snapping.
I stood at the doorway. Sam ahead, already fiddling with his radio.
Then she leaned in.
Close enough that her breath ghosted against my cheek.
And she whispered—
"I love him now. Just so you know."
I blinked.
Didn't flinch.
Just… nodded.
Somewhere inside me, a window opened. Let the air in.
But then—
She smiled, soft and crooked. Whispered again.
"But I'll always be there for you. And don't forget—"
Her voice dipped.
"I'm your first girlfriend, right?"
A beat.
I stared at her, deadpan.
"Shut up" I muttered.
She laughed.
That laugh.
Warm and unfiltered and real.
I didn't turn back again when we walked into the night.
But her voice stayed.
Like the smell of old coffee on my sleeve.
Like something I could never quite wash off.
Ten meters from the rover.
That's all.
The café lights still spilled faint amber onto the street behind us.
I remember thinking—
Maybe that was okay.
Maybe I could live with this version of goodbye.
Then the world screamed.
No warning or buzz
Just impact.
A deafening crack, then—
Fire.
The café behind us ruptured like paper soaked in gasoline.
Glass. Wood. Lanterns.
Everything she touched. Everything we said. Gone.
Heat smacked the back of my neck.
My ears rang.
My knees buckled, but I didn't fall.
Sam was already yelling.
But it was muffled, like underwater.
I turned around to see something I'd have not wanted to see.
And I ran with hope of saving her. If she was alive.