Page 177 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

“James—”

“No, because every time we get close to it, you pull away.”

His jaw tightened even more.

I could see the irritation beginning to surface beneath the composure.

“I came here tonight to have dinner with you,” he said carefully. “Not to reopen old wounds.”

“Were they ever closed?”

Silence.

Heavy and sharp.

Victor stared at me for a long second.

Then suddenly, the soft clink of metal echoed against the plate as he set his fork and knife down harder than necessary—not loud enough to cause a scene, but enough.

“We’re leaving,” he said flatly.

My chest tightened instantly.

Victor reached for his wallet, already signaling for the waiter with the same calm efficiency he brought into everything else.

Like shutting things down was easier than staying.

I watched him speak quietly to the server, asking for the bill.

And for the first time that night, a dangerous thought entered my mind: push harder.

Because maybe this—this right here—was the real problem all along.

Every time things became uncomfortable, Victor left the room emotionally before I could even finish speaking.

The waiter walked away to prepare the bill.

Victor didn’t look at me.

And across the table, surrounded by golden lights and fractured mirrors, I sat there, wondering whether telling the truth would heal us, or would finally destroy us for good.

The moment we stepped outside the restaurant, the warmth disappeared instantly.

The night air felt colder than it should have—sharp enough to slip beneath skin like needles.

Victor stood a few feet away from me as we waited for our Grab ride.

Not beside me.

Not close enough to touch.

Just… there. One hand in his pocket, the other rubbing faintly against his jaw like he was trying to contain something inside himself.

He looked away from me entirely, eyes fixed somewhere across the street where people continued living their lives without realizing mine was unraveling again.

Neither of us spoke. And somehow, that silence felt worse in the open, because now there was nothing softening it. No jazz music. No warm lighting. No polished restaurant atmosphere pretending we were still okay.

Just us and the wreckage between us.