Page 191 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

And then I stopped.

Because right there—just beyond the glass—was the city I spent months being afraid of.

The same city that watched me fall apart.

The same streets that once felt haunted.

For a second, my chest tightened again.

Not roaring… just cautious.

I stared outside as people passed beneath streetlights, laughing loudly, carrying shopping bags, holding hands, living lives that kept moving no matter who broke their hearts.

And somewhere inside me, fear whispered:

What if it still hurts?

I inhaled slowly.

Then finally, I reached for the door handle… and slid the door open.

The night air wrapped around me instantly—cold but alive and filled with movement.

Cars slid past in streaks of light. Music spilled from nearby restaurants. Conversations overlapped across sidewalks. The entire city breathed around me like it had been waiting for me to return.

I took another step…

Then another.

And there it was, that familiar ache.

Across the street, I remembered the exact spot where he once stood waiting for me late at night, one hand inside his pocket while smiling the moment he saw me.

The memory stung.

But curiously, it didn’t destroy me anymore.

A few steps later, I passed another corner and remembered us kissing there once beneath the glow of a convenience store sign, laughing between breaths like the world belonged only to us.

That hurt too… but… softly now, like touching an old bruise instead of an open wound.

And suddenly, I realized something that made me stop walking for half a second.

Victor didn’t own Southside. He only existed in it.

For months, I let heartbreak convince me this city belonged to my pain. That every café, every sidewalk, every skyline had become his.

But Southside was mine long before I met him.

Mine before the longing.

Mine before the grief.

Mine before love turned into survival.

I looked around slowly, taking the city back piece by healing piece.

The lights.