Old Friends, Old Scars
They sat across from each other in the candlelight.
The violinist played softly; the air was thick with what went unsaid.
“Take off the scarf,” Ethan said gently.
She hesitated, then removed it.
Chestnut hair fell over her shoulders. Her face — older, marked with pain — still beautiful.
“You haven’t changed,” he murmured.
She gave a sad smile. “I’ve changed completely.”
Then she told him everything.
How she’d studied architecture, started strong, then lost her footing — literally.
A bad accident. A limp. Clients who stopped believing in her.
A man she loved who mocked her at a party, calling her names in front of everyone.
She vanished. Began cleaning offices — it felt safer.
“When you’re invisible,” she said softly, “no one can hurt you.”
“Why didn’t you get surgery?”
“Too expensive. The best treatment’s in Germany. I could never afford it.”
Ethan looked at her and realized — the world had broken her far more cruelly than it had ever broken him.
He reached for her hand.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“My place.”
She tried to pull away, but his voice was steady, calm.
