The dawn arrived with a different air. There was something about the golden-hued sky that seemed to announce a change, a kind of truce between the past and the present. I was sitting at my desk, the journal closed beside me. That notebook had borne witness to my darkest nights and my uncertain days of light, but now, its presence no longer felt heavy.
It had been weeks since I wrote the letter to Astrid, and although the echoes of what I felt for her still lingered in my mind, they were no longer storms. Now they were whispers, like the distant sound of a song I once knew by heart.
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Sofía's question
Sofía and I had continued sharing moments. It wasn't exactly love between us, but it was a kind of companionship that felt just as powerful. She was the kind of person who knew when to stay silent and when to say exactly what I needed to hear.
"What's next for you?" she asked one afternoon as we walked through the park.
"I don't know. But that doesn't scare me as much as it used to."
She smiled, nodding as though she had expected that answer.
"Then you're ready."
"Ready for what?"
"To live without carrying all of that. It doesn't mean forgetting—it means learning to walk with it."
Her words stayed with me, circling my mind like a song I couldn't stop humming.
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Purpose in words
That night, as I tried to sleep, Sofía's question echoed in my mind: What's next for you? It was a question I had never allowed myself to ask because I was always trapped in what I had lost. But now, for the first time, I could imagine something different.
I decided to return to the forums, but this time with a clearer purpose. I began writing about my story, not as a confession but as a gift for those struggling with their own demons. I narrated my days with Astrid, my descent into the abyss, and the long road I had taken to climb out of it.
The impact was immediate. People from all over shared how my words resonated with their own experiences. Some said my texts had helped them understand their feelings; others simply thanked me for giving them hope.
One night, while reading the comments, I came across one that left me speechless:
"I don't know who you are, but thank you for sharing this story. I've been carrying my own grief for years, and your words made me feel like I'm not alone."
I read that message several times, letting each word settle inside me. For the first time, I felt like everything made sense: the pain, the losses, even the days when I thought I wouldn't make it. Everything had converged in that moment, giving me a new way to see the world.
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The unexpected message from Astrid
But life always has one last test, and mine came in the form of an unexpected message. It was from Astrid.
"Can we talk?"
My heart stopped as I read those words. Minutes passed before I could process it, and even more before I decided what to do. I stared at my phone screen, my fingers trembling slightly over the keyboard. Finally, I replied:
"Sure. Tell me where and when."
We met at a small café, far from the places we used to frequent. She looked the same, yet different. There was something in her gaze that reflected the months that had passed, the experiences we had lived through apart.
The scent of coffee filled the air as we sat across from each other. The silence between us was heavy, but not uncomfortable, as if we both knew the right words would come when they were ready. Finally, she spoke.
"Hi," she said with a faint smile.
"Hi."
We stayed quiet for a few more minutes, each of us struggling to find the right words. Eventually, she broke the silence.
"I wanted to see you to say something I should have said a long time ago. I'm sorry. For how we ended, for how I left."
"Astrid, you don't have to—"
"Let me finish, please," she interrupted gently. "I left because I didn't know how to stay. Not because I didn't love you, but because I was lost in myself."
I nodded, feeling a lump in my throat.
"I'm sorry too. For not being what you needed at the time."
She smiled, but this time with a hint of sadness.
"It's not about blame. We both did the best we could with what we had."
Her voice was warm but firm, as if she too had found her own peace.
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Closing the circle
The conversation continued, but not as a way to relive the past—rather, to close the circle. We talked about what we had learned, about how we had both changed. When we said goodbye, I knew it would be our last farewell, but also our first one from a place of peace.
As she walked out of the café, I stayed seated for a few more minutes, staring at the empty cup in front of me. The weight of the months that had passed no longer felt as heavy, as if I had finally found balance between what was and what could be.
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The final goodbye
That night, I wrote in my journal:
"The love we shared was real, and so was its loss. But now I know that even the things that end leave traces that can guide you toward what's next. Thank you, Astrid, for what we were and for what you taught me. Goodbye—not with pain, but with gratitude."
I closed the journal calmly, feeling like the final piece of the puzzle had found its place. I didn't know what the future held, but for the first time, I wasn't afraid.