Ghosts Don't Pay Rent: Act 3 - The Conflict: Julia's Inner Struggle

The warmth of the café, the familiar scent of coffee, always brought a sense of comfort. Adam (my ex) and I had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, a weekly coffee date where we'd dissect and roast the world and everyone with shared sarcasm. It was our escape, a chance to connect without the pressure of labels or expectations. This is here is the story of how our love song turned into a lament, played out over countless coffees and stolen glances. It ended all with that fateful phone call, and those three words that changed everything: "I love you". It wasn't the words themselves that frightened me, but the vulnerability they exposed, the potential for a depth of connection I wasn't sure I could handle.

I hadn't expected it. The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications, making things super awkward. I felt a sudden distance between us, like a whole new scene, and I wasn't sure if I liked the script. We had a good thing going, didn't we? Did he really know me, the real me? Did he see the insecurities I hid behind my sarcasm? We had built a comfortable camaraderie, a fortress of shared sarcasm and lighthearted banter. Now, the walls threatened to crumble, revealing a landscape of emotions I had carefully kept hidden.

When we met the next day, the warmth of the café felt suffocating, like someone cranked up the heat just to mess with me. I could see the unspoken question in his eyes. I needed him to understand. "We barely know each other," I began, my voice barely above a whisper, desperately clinging to the safety of logic. My fingers wouldn't stop fiddling with my mug; I couldn't look him in the eye." Why do you say you love me?"

He tried to say something, but the words tripped over each other, like he had forgotten how to talk. It hit me in a way I didn’t expect, like it was both comforting and terrifying. A part of me, buried under layers of sarcasm and self-doubt, longed for that vulnerability, that unguarded connection. But another part, the one that always wins, screamed warnings, flashing images of tear-stained nights and broken promises. You're not ready for this, it hissed. You'll only get hurt again.
He finally managed to say, "It's the way you light up," he said, his eyes searching mine. "You make me see the world differently."

Okay, that was kind of sweet—too sweet, actually, like a warm hug on a cold day, unexpected and comforting. My heart did this stupid little flutter, but a knot of anxiety tightened in my chest, and my brain was yelling, "Danger! Danger!" I'd been down this road before, and it usually ended in a crash. "That's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me," I admitted, a small smile playing on my lips. "But you're seeing the best version of me. I have flaws, insecurities... I'm not as perfect as you think."

His words were beautiful, like a song you hear in the background but can’t quite let yourself enjoy. I wanted to believe him, but the past was like a broken record, playing all my worst moments on repeat. Love was a gamble; one I had lost too many times before. I am a patchwork of mistakes, fears, imperfections, and anxieties, and I couldn't understand how he could love such a flawed creation.

He reached across the table, his hand warm against mine, and for a second, I almost held on tight, the urge to intertwine my fingers with his was overwhelming. "I'm not looking for perfect," he said, looking right at me, at this moment I felt seen, as if he can see my true self. "I just love you for who you are."

His words felt real, like he saw all my mess and still care. And for a moment, I wanted to believe him, to trust those words, to let myself be seen and loved. But old wounds have a way of resurfacing, a phantom pain echoing from past heartbreaks. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was unworthy of such affection, that I was destined to disappoint him, to break his heart. And in the process, I will get hurt again.

"I'm flattered," I said, gently pulling my hand away. "But I'm not ready for this. I see us as friends, and I’m not ready for more right now." The words tasted bitter on my tongue. Lies. All lies, a lie I told to protect myself from the terrifying idea of being truly seen and loved. I did like him, more than I can admit. But love? That's a whole other level of scary, a commitment I wasn't sure I could handle.

Disappointment clouded his eyes, but he managed a smile. "That's okay," he said, though I could tell it wasn't. "Thank you for your honesty", but we both knew it wasn’t the honesty he wanted.

He tried to change the subject, but his words kept playing in my head. His idealistic view of love was both beautiful and terrifying. Was he setting himself up for disappointment, a naive dreamer in a world of harsh realities? Did he truly understand the sacrifices and compromises that love demanded?

We sat there in this awkward silence, both lost in our thoughts. Part of me wanted to tell him everything, tell him how messed up I am, how broken I felt inside, why I was so terrified of getting close to anyone. But the words wouldn't come out. They never did. I was locked behind walls I had built to keep everyone out. After all, who wants to date me, a walking emotional minefield?

We finished our coffee without saying much else. As I walked away from the café that day, my heart ached with conflicting emotions, I felt an intense sense of loss, like I had left something behind. I wanted to run back to him, to tell him that maybe, just maybe, there could be something more between us. But the fear held me back. The fear of getting hurt, of opening up and having everything fall apart again. Maybe one day I’ll be ready for love. But not today. And not with him.
Walking home, everything felt off. The streets I’ve walked a million times felt strange, the world a blur of colours and sounds that held no meaning. The familiar scent of freshly baked bread from the bakery on the corner, usually my favourite, made me nauseous. I had chosen the safety of isolation over the risk of intimacy, and it tasted bitter like a cheap overly roasted coffee.

As the days turned into weeks, I couldn’t stop replaying our conversation over and over in my head. Did I make the right decision? Was I being too careful? Maybe he was the different, someone who could see past my flaws and love me for whom I truly was. But deep down, I knew that I had told him the truth—at least the truth I could handle at the time.

In the end, I did what I always do—protect myself from potential pain. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe I missed out on something special. But in that moment, it felt like the only way to safeguard my heart is to run away. And yeah, it still eats at me sometimes. Could I ever let go of my fears and accept that kind of messy, imperfect love Adam talked about?

Perhaps one day, I will be brave enough to confront the ghosts of my past, to believe in the possibility of a love that embraces both good and the ugly. But for now, I am trapped in a prison of my own making, haunted by the same old fears that kept me from letting anyone in. Maybe I'm just destined to be the crazy cat lady, surrounded by my furry overlords. At least they won´t ask me about my feelings. All I know is, the memory of that day still haunts me, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.

Maybe one day, I will be ready to try again. But for now, I needed to focus on healing, figure out who I am outside of a relationship. And who knows? Maybe our paths will cross again when I’m not such a mess. Or maybe I’ll just adopt a cat. That seems safer.
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Weeks later, a dog-eared page. A tear stain.
A final glimpse - Pages taken out of Julia worn diary, tucked away in a drawer.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I: So what, you are scared of love?

Myself: No shit. Who isn’t? Love is like jumping out of a plane without checking if you’re wearing a parachute. Fun until you hit the ground.

I: Dramatic much?

myself: Hey, you wanted honesty. Everyone’s scared of love, dipshit, everyone learn that in their 20s, it takes a unicornm, or a very powerful being to be not terrified of happiness.

I: Dumb

Myself: Dumb!! yes, it takes a special kind of idiot, like Adam maybe, to not be terrified of happiness. He thinks he can dance through life with this googly-eyed, "love conquers all" attitude. Yeah, let’s see how well that works out when life kicks him in the ass..

I: So you’re really gonna blame him for being happy?

Myself: Not blaming him. Just... being realistic. Adam thinks happiness is some kind of eternal flame or whatever. Meanwhile, I'm sitting here Ankles deep in the shit, knowing that even the strongest fire burns out eventually. Let us say you meet the love of your life, cool—guess what? It still ends. It’s inevitable. Either by the slow crawl of cancer, a freak hiking accident, or—if you’re lucky—a nice, slow disintegration where you slowly morph into two people who can’t stand the sight of each other.

I: Wow, that is harsh.

Myself: Harsh is waking up to find the person you thought loved you has ghosted you, their side of the bed cold and empty. Harsh is the silence after the laughter fades, the echo of "I love you" turning into "I'm sorry, it's not you, it's me." It's the shattered pieces of your heart you have to glue back together, only to realize they'll never quite fit the same way again.
I’ve seen it play out before, like a bad rom-com where they forget to add the happy ending. One minute, you’re making pancakes and laughing at each other’s bad jokes, and the next, you’re finding out he cheated because apparently, love wasn’t enough to keep his pants on.

I: Wait—why’d you freak out so badly? Your thoughts is very general.

Myself: Ok, you asked for it, you want personal? Fine. I’ve done this before. With Matt, for example. The guy who used to look at me like I am his moon and stars, until one day, out of the blue, he decided he’d rather look at his coworker, Nina. Apparently, she had better ‘energy’—whatever the hell that means. That betrayal left scars. Big ones. The kind you can’t cover up with sarcasm, no matter how hard you try. So yeah, when Adam started talking about love like it was some magic spell that would fix everything, all I could see was Matt walking out the door, leaving me to pick up the pieces of my own stupidity.

I: You think Adam would cheat on you?

Myself: Adam? No. But that’s not the point. The point is, everything good eventually crumbles. And here’s the thing: the smarter you are, the more you know happiness is a trap. And I am smart enough to know, that I don’t do well with crumbling. I like my heart in one piece, thanks. Call me selfish, but I’m not doing another round of late-night crying sessions because I was dumb enough to believe in ‘different’.

I: This is a loop, things could be better.

Myself: Best case scenario? Adam and I would’ve worked out for a few more months before I ruined it with my overthinking, or he realized I’m a lot to handle. Worst case? We’re holding hands in a hospital bed after years of pretending we didn’t hate each other, and the nurse accidentally unplugs one of us.

I: That's a bit dark, don't you think? what if you're missing out on something real?

Myself: Dark? Sure. Realistic? Absolutely. Love, happiness—it’s all one big gamble, and honestly, my luck sucks. At least this way, by being lonly, I won’t be blindsided when it all falls apart. Maybe I'm broken, or maybe I'm just smart enough to know that happiness is overrated. But either way, happiness isn’t for people like me. I’ll take my sarcasm, my cats, and my peace of mind, thanks. Because at least cats don’t say ‘I love you’ and expect you to mean it back.

Sega