Mrs. Chen’s got a hell of a sense of humor. Elisa’s smile widened just a fraction. She told me you were stubborn, quiet, and that you needed someone who wouldn’t let you hide. My heart did a strange skip. She said that. She said a lot of things. Elise admitted. She made me promise I’d show up even though I told her I wasn’t ready for this. She said you’d understand what it’s like to feel broken. The air between us grew heavier, charged with something I wasn’t ready to name.
Outside the window, people walked by with their dogs in their shopping bags, living normal lives that felt impossibly far away. Inside this coffee shop, it was just me and Elise and the truth we’d both been avoiding. “I don’t know if I’m broken,” I said slowly. “Or if I’m just stuck,” Elise nodded like she understood perfectly. “I think stuck and broken feel the same most days.” We sat there for a moment, neither of us drinking our coffee, neither of us looking away.
Then Elise did something I didn’t expect. She reached across the table and placed her hand on mine. Her fingers were warm, slightly rough from work, and the touch sent a jolt through me that I felt all the way to my chest. “Thank you for being honest,” she said softly. “Most people lie on first dates.” I looked down at her hand on mine and realized I hadn’t let anyone touch me like this in 3 years. Not in a way that meant something.
“This doesn’t feel like a first date,” I admitted. It feels like something else. Elise pulled her hand back slowly like she didn’t really want to and wrapped both hands around her coffee cup again. Mrs. Chen knew what she was doing. She said, “She told me you’d be good for me, that you’d see me, not just the tired nurse who smells like hospitals.” I swallowed hard. She told me you needed furniture work. Elise laughed, and it was the first real laugh I’d heard from her.
It was soft and genuine, and it made something in my chest loosen. I don’t need furniture work, Zayn. I’m her hospice nurse. I’ve been taking care of her for 3 months. The world tilted. I stared at Elise, my brain scrambling to catch up. Wait, you’re Mrs. Chen’s nurse? Elise nodded and her smile faded into something sad. She has stage 4 pancreatic cancer. 4 to 6 months, maybe less. She didn’t want you to know yet, but she made me promise to meet you.
She said if she was going to leave this world, she wanted to fix one thing first. My hands went cold. Mrs. Chen was dying. The woman who brought me dumplings and scolded me for working too late and reminded me so much of my grandmother was dying. And she’d spent her last months trying to set me up with her nurse. “She’s dying,” I repeated, the words tasting bitter. “And this was her idea of help.” Elisa’s eyes filled with tears.
“She loves you, Zayn. She talks about you all the time. She says, “You’re wasting your life hiding in that cabin, and she can’t stand the thought of leaving you alone.” I stood up so fast, my chair scraped against the floor, my chest felt tight, my hands shaking. “I need air.” Elise stood too, grabbing her bag. “Zane, wait.” But I was already walking toward the door, pushing it open, stepping out into the cool afternoon air that smelled like lake water and pine.
My heart pounded in my ears and I couldn’t tell if I was angry or terrified or something else entirely. Elise followed me outside, her footsteps quick behind me. “Zane, please.” I stopped on the sidewalk, hands shoved deep in my pockets, staring at the lake that stretched out calm and indifferent. “She’s dying,” I said again, like saying it out loud would make it real. “And she used her last months to play matchmaker.” She used her last months, Elise corrected gently, stepping beside me.
To give you a chance at living again, I turned to look at her. This woman I’d just met. This stranger who somehow felt like she understood me better than anyone had in years. Her eyes were still red rimmed, her cardigan slightly a skew, and she looked as lost as I felt. “What if I don’t want to live again?” I asked, and my voice cracked. “What if staying stuck is easier?” Elise reached out and touched my arm, her hand warm even through my flannel shirt.
“Then you stay stuck,” she said quietly. “And I’ll stay exhausted and sad and convinced I’m too much for anyone to love, and Mrs. Chen will die knowing she tried but couldn’t save either of us.” Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I looked at her, really looked at her, and saw the same fear in her eyes that I felt every single day. The fear of trying again, the fear of losing again, the fear that maybe we didn’t deserve a second chance.
