Page 151 of One Last Encore

But before he left, he paused at her door. He stood there for a full sixty seconds, his forehead nearly resting against the wood, like he could will her to open it.

Finally, he peeled a letter from his jacket pocket and taped it carefully to her door, smoothing the edges like it mattered, like it might somehow change the ending he had no control over.

It was a letter he’d written months ago, long before he had been her neighbor. Tucked inside the envelope was the five-dollar bill she’d once given him.

That bill had bled with him. It had ridden through detox tucked against his ribs. Clung to his hand as he scattered his mother’s ashes into the empty, indifferent sky. Sat heavy in his pocket every time he stood on a stage she wasn’t there to see. It was more than paper. It was faith, incarnate. Her faith in him. When he had none left. And now, it was hers again.

Outside, the city bit back. December’s wind carved at his skin, made the sidewalk hiss beneath his boots. His breath turned to smoke. The cold burned, but he didn’t care. He moved like a man possessed—wired, dazed, electric with adrenaline.

His heart was pounding in his ears, his thoughts barely keeping up with his feet. He knew that the next time he saw her, everything could change. His life would be different. Whether it broke him open or finally put him back together.

He ducked into the corner bodega and grabbed two Vietnamese coffees, hers sweet, his extra strong.

By the time he stepped back into the building, his pulse had just started to slow. Until he heard it. Footsteps. Fast. Thunderous. Charging down the stairs like their life depended on it. He froze on the landing, heart pounding all over again.

The first thing he saw were her bare feet, pale against the worn wood, peeking out from the edges of the black tights she always wore. Her short wool skirt moved with each hurried step, and it hit him how many times he had replayed her walking away. But this time, she wasn’t leaving. She was running toward him.

Her sweater clung to her, sleeves bunched slightly at the wrists the way they always were when she was anxious. Her hair was wild with movement, strands tumbling loose from where they’d been twisted back, framing her face in a golden blur.

She looked like every version of her he had ever loved, past and present colliding in one moment.

Then their eyes locked. And the world stilled. No noise. No movement. Just her.

Something in her gaze knocked the air right out of him, warm and glassy, emotions flickering too quickly for him to name.

She blinked, and for a split second, he saw fear flash across her face. He wanted to tell her it was okay. That he was right here. That he had always been. But the words got stuck in his throat. Because looking at her now, flushed and undone, standing halfway down the stairs, he knew he would have waited a lifetime for her to choose him.

"Oh," she breathed, stopping just one step above him. Her voice was breathless, shaky. "I thought you left."

"I did," he said, lifting the cups slightly, "to get coffee."

A beat.

"You still like Vietnamese coffee, right?"

Her gaze dropped to the cups, and for a moment, something soft flickered across her face. A small, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she nodded.

"You thought I was gone for good?" he teased. "The only way I’m leaving is if that rat drags me out."

That earned him a real smile. The kind that made everything inside him twist and ache.

"Don’t tempt him," she said, lifting an eyebrow. "He’s been looking for an excuse. And I pay in premium cheese."

A laugh rumbled out of him and for a second it felt like no time had passed at all. She reached for the coffees, but instead of holding the cups, she set both down carefully on the stair behind her. Like she didn’t want anything between them. His heart stumbled.

"Where are you going? I’m not sure if you’re aware, but…"He paused, eyes dropping to her toes peeking out from the tights. "…you’re definitely missing shoes."

She followed his gaze and wiggled her toes against the floor, a breathy laugh escaping.

"Yeah," she said, like she was just now noticing.

Then her hand lifted, and he saw the crumpled envelope clutched tight in her fingers. The one he had taped to her door.

"I wasn’t thinking," she breathed. "You left this, and I didn’t know what to do. And when you weren’t in your apartment, I panicked, and I–" She broke off, the words catching in her throat.

His chest tightened. The way she was looking at him made it hard to breathe. She swallowed, her knuckles whitening around the envelope.

"I’m sorry," she whispered. "For not asking the right questions. For walking away when I should’ve stayed. For being afraid when I should’ve been brave."

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