You were home to me
The day Austin left her was beautiful. After a month of grey skies and wet streets, the sun had finally emerged from its hiding place behind the waterlogged clouds, and the once-dark sky was now a bright cerulean, as though the previous weeks of rain were simply an intense visit to the celestial dry cleaners.
It was only a few days to Valentine's, so every bookstore, every restaurant, every shopping mall and even her own office, had set up decorations in bright red and pink. She'd even seen a few billboards with his face on them, inspiring her to celebrate love by purchasing a drink or exclusive merchandise. It was a sick, sick joke, especially because the poster boy for romance had thrown away six years of their life together with a simple text and nothing else.
The whole world was taunting her, and there was nothing she could do about it.
She couldn't even be miserable; her best friend, Kelly, had finally married the love of her life, her parents had bought the marital house they'd sold to send her to college, and the whole office was celebrating the success of their exclusive with her celebrity boyfriend—a boyfriend she no longer had.
Perhaps her happiness was the dam holding the good things in the world back.
No roof over my head was as warm as your bed
They'd met in the most normal of ways: on social media. Then, they weren't Ace the world-renowned singer and Celina the award-winning journalist; they were just Austin and Lina—two teenagers with a shared passion for music and way too much time on their hands. Their romance then was like any other; cute, heartwarming and short-lived. They couldn't keep a relationship when they were both chasing dreams that mattered more than anything else, and in those confusing times, they made a surprisingly mature decision to end things before they could hurt each other.
And that was that. At least it was, until some of their old friends arranged to meet up eight years later.
By then, Ace had made a name for himself and slowly but surely, Celina was moving up the ranks of acclaimed investigative journalists. Somehow, none of that mattered. Once more, they were Austin and Lina, friends who had found something more in each other. They spent that night chatting; just teasing each other and laughing until they couldn't continue.
Apparently, that was more than enough to rekindle a flame that she was sure had died.
I don't want to let you go
The last six years had simultaneously been the brightest and darkest of her life, and Austin was a part of every sparkling memory. She had hoped—had believed— she was part of the most brilliant parts of his life as well.
Those hopes were broken now.
She still couldn't wrap her head around it. They had been so, so happy. Ace had started directing movies like he'd always wanted, and she had just wrapped up another story that was sure to garner a lot of attention. Their families were finally getting along, albeit reluctantly. All her friends were sure that he was about to propose; she was sure he was about to propose. Those questions about her favourite jewels couldn't have been casual inquiries; the sudden insistence to buy her a new ring had to have meant something—
She shut her laptop and stood to leave; she wasn't getting anything done. As she headed to the door, a familiar song played softly in the background, highlighting the romantic atmosphere of the cafe.
Oh, the joys of dating a musician.
She clambered into her car and drove back home in silence; she could guess whose songs would play on the radio anyway.
Why am I saying this when you've already left?
The house was as quiet as the car had been. Not that it surprised her—it hurt, though. Her personal jukebox had abandoned her without a warning, and he didn't even have the decency to clean the traces he'd left all over her house. His guitar—the one she'd bought him after saving the meagre income she was getting from her twelve-hour shift at her uncle's restaurant— leaned against the wall of her bedroom, right under the painting he'd gifted her on their second three-month anniversary. Beside it was her desk, which was littered with souvenirs he'd bought for her from his first world tour. She picked up one of the woven bracelets. She couldn't even remember where it was from (she could; he'd gotten it from an artisan in Monaco, and she'd scolded him for spending so much money on something they could make on their own. He hadn't even tried to defend himself; instead, he just smiled at her every time she wore it).
There wasn't any way she could forget him.
Out of the blue, a face I once knew
While Celina got ready for bed in her apartment, Ace was on the other side of the city. In his palm sat an ornate ring, made of white gold, shaped like vines twining around a ruby set in its centre. The ring would never meet its owner, it seemed. The thought brought a fresh set of tears to his eyes. He'd never wanted to leave Lina, not when they were eighteen and trying to figure out life, and not three days ago when his doctor had broken the news of his illness.
At first, he thought it was a joke, a sick prank set up by his social media team (if only it were true). Then, he'd been so angry; angry that he learned this when everything was perfect, and he was about to spend the rest of his life with the most special thing that had ever happened to him.
When the anger had mellowed out, all that was left was grief. It consumed him for days on end; he grieved the life they could have had, and he envisioned the sorrow that would hang over Lina if she learned of the tumour sitting in his skull and that was when he realised he couldn't stay.
He knew it wasn't fair to leave her so abruptly, but he also knew how much it would cost her—how much she would give up— to be with him as he wasted away, and he didn't care how selfish it was of him; he couldn't die peacefully if he were the reason she tore down the tower she'd spent her entire life building.
So here he was, seated in an empty fishing pier with a bottle of rum as his only company; far from the person he craved the most. It was a hell of his own making, yet he couldn't help but think that if it all ended like this — if he were the only broken-hearted one— it wouldn't be so bad.
Is foreign again.
This work was inspired by the song "foreign" by Britton.
ns216.73.216.67da2
and then Add to home screen.