TREAT ME RIGHT

The walk home from the café was quiet. Not the awkward, uncomfortable kind, no sharp words or sudden tension, but a silence heavy with unspoken thoughts-each one tangled, hesitant, afraid of being voiced. Streetlights flickered on one by one, their golden glow stretching long shadows across the pavement, painting the evening in a mix of warmth and melancholy.

Benita walked slightly slower than usual, a subtle hesitation in her step. James noticed immediately. He wanted to say something-anything-but every sentence he rehearsed in his mind sounded flat, inadequate, weak. So he stayed quiet, letting the rhythm of their footsteps speak where his words failed.

When they reached the junction where Benita usually turned, she stopped.

"This is me," she said gently, her voice soft yet steady, carrying the weight of a thought carefully spoken.

James nodded, words failing him. "Yeah."

Another pause lingered between them. She lifted her eyes to his, really looked at him, tracing the lines of regret, confusion, and something broken he was still trying to hide. For a moment, she almost reached for him. Almost.

"I had a nice time today," she said finally. "Even if it didn't go the way I imagined."

James swallowed hard. "I'm really sorry."

"I know," she replied, and in that simple acknowledgment, she held no judgment, no accusation, just a quiet understanding. "And I believe you mean it."

Her pause carried weight, a fragile honesty. "I just think... maybe you need time."

The words weren't harsh. They weren't meant to punish. But they landed hard, pressing against James like cold water he wasn't ready to touch.

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. I think I do."

Benita's lips curved in a faint, sad smile, the kind that carried understanding without expectation. "I don't want to be someone you use to forget someone else."

"You're not," he said quickly, as though afraid she might doubt him. "I promise."

"I know," she said softly. "But sometimes... intentions aren't enough."

They lingered in that space for a few quiet moments before she stepped back.

"Goodnight, James."

"Goodnight, Benita."

She turned and walked away, not looking back. James watched until she disappeared into the quiet street, the ache in his chest heavy but strangely grounding, a sensation he couldn't name yet.

That night, James lay awake far longer than he cared to admit. His phone buzzed on the bedside table, and his heart jumped before his mind could catch up. He picked it up, almost afraid of what he might find.

Unknown Contact: I saw you today.

His breath hitched. He knew exactly who it was. Another message followed.

Unknown Contact: You looked happy.

His fingers curled around the phone. He hadn't saved Rose's number again-but he didn't need to. Every word carried her voice too clearly, familiar, insistent, a ghost that refused to fade.

He didn't reply.

Minutes stretched, silent and torturous, before another message came.

ROSE: So that's it? You moved on that fast?

James sat up, running a hand through his hair, chest tight with a mixture of anger, exhaustion, and clarity. This time, the pain didn't feel like drowning-it felt like a line he had drawn in the sand.

He typed slowly:

JAMES: I didn't move on fast. I just stopped waiting.

A pause stretched long enough for the quiet in the room to grow heavier. Then another message appeared.

ROSE: I made a mistake, James. Don't I deserve forgiveness?

James stared at the screen. Once, those words might have shattered him. Now... they just made him tired.

JAMES: Forgiveness doesn't mean access. I forgive you. But I can't go back.

He locked the phone and placed it face down on the table. For the first time, he didn't wait for a reply. For the first time, he let the silence speak louder than her insistence.

The next few days passed strangely. James moved through them with measured steps. He went to class. He laughed with Ben. He ate, slept, lived-an imitation of normalcy at first, but slowly, subtly, the edges of him began to soften. Something had shifted, even if he didn't fully understand it.

Benita didn't text as often-not out of anger, not out of distance, but out of respect for his space. And that absence hit differently, a gentle ache in its own right.

One afternoon, James found himself sitting alone on the campus steps, staring at nothing, caught in the liminal space between memory and hope.

"You look like someone who lost something," Ben observed, sliding onto the step beside him.

James exhaled, shoulders slumping. "I think I did."

"Rose?"

He shook his head. "No. Her hold on me."

Ben nodded. "That's progress."

"But I might lose Benita because of it," James admitted softly, the words tasting bitter.

Ben was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. "Or you might lose her because you're not ready yet. And that's okay too."

James leaned back, eyes closing briefly. "I don't want to hurt her."

"Then don't rush," Ben said simply. "Heal first. If it's real, it'll wait."

Two days later, James saw Benita again. She sat in the library, sunlight spilling through the window onto her notebook. Headphones draped over her ears, she was focused, serene, but as she lifted her eyes and saw him standing, her face softened.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," he replied softly. He didn't sit immediately. "Can I?"

She nodded, a quiet permission.

They settled together in silence for a few seconds, the air between them gentle yet cautious, fragile as glass.

"I've been thinking," James began, voice low, careful. "About what you said."

Benita tilted her head, waiting.

"And?"

"You were right," he admitted, voice steady despite the racing in his chest. "I wasn't ready. And I don't want to pull you into something unfinished."

Her expression softened, the corners of her lips tugging into something warm. "Thank you for saying that."

"But," he continued, locking eyes with her, "I don't want to disappear either. I want to heal properly. And when I do... I want to try again. If you'll still want that."

Benita closed her notebook slowly, considering him, weighing the unspoken words.

"I like you, James," she said honestly, her voice steady, unwavering. "Not the broken parts. Not the potential. You. But I need honesty and presence."

"You'll get that," he promised. "Even if it takes time."

She studied him for a moment, then smiled-a real, effortless smile this time.

"Then let's not rush," she said, soft but resolute. "Let's just... be real."

James nodded, a quiet relief settling over him, spreading slowly from his chest to his shoulders.

For the first time in a long while, he wasn't chasing love. He was choosing healing. And maybe... just maybe... that was the beginning of something stronger, something that could survive mistakes, heartbreak, and time itself.