When a broken petal falls

It was a quiet airport-hall evening descending like a whisper when they stood at the final gate together. Ethan knew he'd never forgive himself the violation of crossing it. Ticket or no ticket, it would be an unforgivable act. The act of choice being the more divine. So instead he traced her fingers with his  eyes as they trembled holding the edge of her jacket between them. The air had thickened between them with many things, mostly words left unsaid that had been building for days, maybe weeks, who knew? He looked at her, trying to read her face, but something in her eyes was different tonight—distant, yet resolved.

"I can’t do this anymore," she said softly, almost to herself, as if she was still convincing her own heart of the truth.

He took a step forward, his voice calm but filled with confusion. "What do you mean? I thought we were getting better."

She shook her head, her gaze drifting past him, unable to meet his eyes. "No, it’s not you. It’s me." Her voice cracked a little, but she swallowed it down, trying to stay composed. "If I knew about you sooner, I would’ve found you. I would’ve tried harder to be the person you needed me to be."

His brow furrowed, and he reached out, but she slipped back as through a fog of feelings. There was a heaviness in her chest, a kind of weight that comes from knowing this was the end. The final and true end after a series of false endings. 

"I gave this everything I had," she whispered. "But I’m not coming back. Not this time."

His heart sank as the reality of her words set in. "But why now? After everything?" His voice broke, a slight desperation creeping in...

She smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile—it was the kind you give when you know something’s over and there’s no turning back. "I wish I had more time," she said. "But I don’t. And it’s not fair to keep holding onto something I know I can’t keep. I’ve already made my decision."

A long silence hung between them. The kind of silence that says more than words ever could. He wanted to fight it, to tell her they could fix this, but deep down, he knew she wasn’t wavering. She had made up her mind.

"Thanks for everything," she said finally, her voice softer now, as if this phrase was really goodbye and as if it was hence the hardest part.

He watched her turn and walk away, the sound of her footsteps fading into the night. And as the door closed behind her, he realized it wasn’t just her leaving—it was the end of everything they had built together. It wasn't a flower that fell this time either, but rather the airline ticket he held between sweat-anguished fingers. It was the last flight they would ever share again, and this time he knew it.