Liana pulled her notebook out of her bag as soon as Sally passed through the doors. She had looked down at her writing intently during the time she knew it would take for Sally to walk out of the cafe and pass the window, trying not to wonder whether Sally had looked at her or not. It was better not to know.
Ideally, she wouldn’t wonder, either, but she hoped that would come with time. That with time, she would cease to care so much. That with time, she would no longer need to try not to care. That with time, it would not matter whether Sally took one last look at her as she left.
The coffee date had been Sally’s idea. Liana had accepted because she would have ended up at some cafe that day anyway, so why not? If she were honest with herself, she would admit that she was only rationalizing her way into spending time with Sally. Despite the time and the miles between what they had once been to each other and what they had become.
She had not lied when she said that she was “trying.” She had tried. She had filled pages and pages of her notebook with “trying.” She didn’t know what to make of the pang that she felt when she thought of Sally. All of her “trying” had only affirmed that she could not think herself out of her feelings.
So she turned to a blank page and uncapped her pen. She still believed that she could write her way toward something other than helpless longing.