Dear, Ex: I'm Not Your Backup and I Deserve More Than This

The next morning, I didn't wake up thinking about Jayden.

That was new.

I didn't replay what he said at the café. I didn't wonder how he found me or whether he'd try again.

I just… got up.

Made tea.

Brushed my hair.

Answered emails.

Like a person.

A full person. Not someone still living in reaction to someone else's actions.

There was a strange quietness in my mind. Not numbness but peace. The kind that feels unfamiliar at first, like a room you forgot used to be yours.

At lunch, I sat on the small balcony outside my apartment, notebook in hand. I didn't write much. Just a few scattered thoughts:

"Today is quiet.

I am not afraid of it.

I don't miss the noise that hurt me.

I don't miss the highs that broke me."

It wasn't poetry.

But it was mine.

Elijah called just after 4 p.m.

"Hey," I said, smiling into the phone.

"Hey," he said, voice a little more playful than usual. "Are you busy tonight?"

"Not really. Why?"

"I want to show you something."

"What kind of something?"

"The kind that requires walking shoes and a little trust."

I raised my eyebrow. "Is it dangerous?"

"No," he laughed. "But it might be a little unexpected."

"I'll take unexpected over exhausting."

"Good," he said. "I'll pick you up at 6."

I wore sneakers, soft jeans, and my favorite hoodie the one that made me feel most like myself.

At exactly six, Elijah knocked on my door. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder and that soft smile I was beginning to trust.

"Ready?"

I nodded.

He didn't tell me where we were going.

We walked for about fifteen minutes, then took a turn toward a part of town I didn't visit often quiet streets, older buildings, the kind of place with charm that didn't beg for attention.

We stopped in front of a small gate that opened into a garden.

"What is this place?" I asked.

"My aunt's community space," he replied. "It's not public, but she lets me come sometimes when I need air."

I looked around. There were benches made from recycled wood, tall sunflowers leaning over the fence, vines wrapping around a small archway, and rows of herbs in raised beds.

It smelled like mint and rain even though it hadn't rained.

"This is beautiful," I said quietly.

"It's my favorite place in the city," Elijah said. "It's where I go when the world feels too heavy."

I turned to him. "Why bring me here?"

He shrugged. "Because lately, you're starting to feel like peace too."

We sat on a bench beneath a tree.

He opened his bag and pulled out a sketchbook and two bottles of water.

"No cinnamon rolls today?" I teased.

He grinned. "You'll survive without sugar for one evening."

I leaned back, letting the quiet of the garden settle into my bones.

"I forgot spaces like this existed," I whispered.

He glanced at me. "What kind of spaces?"

"Quiet ones. Safe ones. Ones that don't ask me to be anything other than present."

Elijah nodded. "That's the goal."

After a while, he began to sketch. I watched his hand move over the page, slow and steady. It calmed me, just watching him work.

"Can I ask you something?" I said after a few minutes.

He didn't look up. "Of course."

"Have you ever been afraid to be happy?"

That made him pause.

He rested his pencil and looked at me.

"Yes," he said honestly. "Especially when I was finally starting to feel it after a long time without."

"Why?"

"Because when you've lived in survival mode," he said, "peace feels like a setup. Like something is coming to ruin it."

I exhaled slowly. "Yes. Exactly."

"But," he continued, "I had to learn that joy doesn't have to earn its place. It's not a trick. It's not a trap. Sometimes it's just… finally your turn."

His words settled in my chest like warm sunlight.

After the sun began to set, Elijah handed me his sketchbook.

I expected another drawing of flowers or benches.

But it was me.

Again.

Sitting exactly where I was now. Hoodie on. Face turned slightly away. A small, tired smile on my lips.

"You drew this just now?" I asked.

"Yeah. I hope that's okay."

I traced the lines of the sketch with my eyes.

"You always draw me looking... calm."

"That's how I see you."

"But I don't always feel that way."

He looked at me. "Healing doesn't mean never feeling afraid again. It just means fear isn't the only voice you listen to anymore."

I looked at him.

Really looked.

And my heart did something it hadn't done in a long time.

It softened without panic.

And that terrified me.

"I like you," I blurted out.

His eyebrows lifted, surprised.

"I mean," I rushed, "I don't know what this is yet or what we're doing but... I like how you make me feel. I like being around you. I like how quiet doesn't feel empty when we're together."

Elijah was silent for a moment.

Then he said, "I like you too, Ava. And I'm not in a rush. We're allowed to take our time."

"I just... I don't want to ruin it."

"You're not a ruin," he said. "You're a rebuild."

We left the garden just after sunset.

He walked me home.

At my door, he didn't ask to come in.

He didn't try to kiss me.

He just looked at me with that soft expression and said, "Thank you for sharing space with me."

And then he walked away.

And I stood there for a long time.

Heart full.

Walls not gone but lower.

And that was enough.

Ava's Journal Entry:

"The first person to treat you with softness after years of pain will always feel unfamiliar.

But don't run from them.

Let yourself be confused.

Let yourself feel the unfamiliar safety.

Because peace is not always loud.

Sometimes it enters quietly through a boy with a sketchbook who asks nothing of you but your presence."