What If

One (Final Chapter)

It was the longest 10-minute walk of their lives.

Their feet just moved, one step after the other, without a single word going between them.

Simón kept staring at her, brief glances that maybe he thought were subtle but they were really not. Nothing he did was subtle for Ámbar. She was conscious of the space between them as they walked, of the way he stayed on the side of the sidewalk that was adjacent to the road in a protective manner, of the way his hands would go into the pockets of his jeans, then out, and then back again, as if he didn't know what to do with them.

Ámbar thought of breaking the silence at least a hundred times, but what could she say? What did you say when you heard your ex, who you hurt very badly and then he hurt you but then he apologized but you haven't apologized, scream that he loves you?

She didn't think there was a manual for that kind of situation.

She still couldn't believe it to be honest. Some part of her, dark and cynical, wondered if maybe it had all been a set up and he was toying with her. But no, Simón would never do that. Why would he? This would only bring him trouble with his friends; she wasn't exactly their favorite person. Actually, an hour ago she thought she wasn't his favorite person either. The more she thought about it, the less sense it made. But he had said he was in love with her, that he wished he hadn't left her alone. 

Her heart had been pounding not stop ever since then, only partly from joy. She was over the moon that he loved her back, that despite everything he still stood up for her against his friends. It was everything she could've ever asked for... and that scared her. It terrified her, because things like that didn't happen to her. Not without her fighting for it, making some plan to achieve it. This time she had done nothing— or nothing right, at the very least. She had done so many things wrong, and she was terrified that he was going to realize that and take back every word he said. It was that fear what kept her from opening her mouth through their walk to the loft.

Simón also felt fear, along with a newfound mix of many other emotions. He wasn't expecting Ámbar to hear all that. When he had turned around and seen her there, his heart had stopped. That was definitely not the way he had imagined ever telling her. In fact, the plan had been to swallow his feelings and never tell her at all.

To say that he was mortified was an understatement— and her silence didn't help at all. How much had she heard? What did she think? He kept repeating these questions in his head and stealing glances at Ámbar, trying to read something in her expression, anything. But her eyes remained on the floor, partly hidden by her hair, and other than fumbling with her black glove every now and then, she didn't do much else. 

That was all he could see: black. Ámbar was dressed in it from head to toe: black shirt, black shorts, black knee-high socks, black shoes... He still found it weird that this was the same girl who used to love to shine, whose wardrobe was full of colors and who always wore high heels. He felt a jab of nostalgia thinking about it. He used to love those heels. They gave him the perfect excuse to hold her in his arms.

No, this black wasn't her. And he'd do everything in his power to make her realize that.

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By the moment they arrived at the loft, Simón felt like jumping out of his skin. This is it, he thought. No more avoiding, no more silence; they were finally going to face what happened.

He put the key in the hole and unlocked the door with a jittery hand. He held the door for her and stepped aside, inviting her in. Ámbar's heart fluttered at the gesture. He had always done that; every time they would go out, he'd open up doors for her or move chairs for her to sit on. She had missed it.