The voice that answered wasn’t there. It was in his head, a ghost from a Tuesday three years ago.
They never got the coffee. Leo got a call from his gallery—a last-minute showing. He’d bounded off the bridge, kissed Alex on the forehead like a blessing, and said, “Next Tuesday. Same place. Bring courage.” flashback original
That was the moment. The one Alex would replay a thousand times. The moment he should have said more. Should have closed the two feet between them. Should have told Leo that the reason he never jumped, never risked, never spoke was because the only thing he truly wanted was standing right there, and losing that was a fall he’d never survive. The voice that answered wasn’t there
The rain was a baptism, cold and relentless, soaking through the thin fabric of Alex’s coat. He stood on the bridge where the old train tracks used to run, staring at the water churning fifty feet below. The city was a smear of wet lights behind him. Leo got a call from his gallery—a last-minute showing
He didn’t look back. But the flashback didn’t fade. It settled into his bones, warm as a hand on his shoulder, and walked with him into the rest of his life.
And for the first time in three years, he believed it.
“You’d catch me,” Alex whispered.