Walk Away

"Thank you". Those were her final words. The phrase that was accompanied by a painful freedom three months ago.

She inhaled deeply as she pulled her cardigan tighter around herself, her hands tucked comfortably inside her pocket. The air was filled with a vibrant scent. Golden blooms showing off their glory all around her. The daffodils were the pride and joy of Pembroke College's hard-working gardener. Spring was manifesting itself in the most beautiful way. There, in a distance, a boy pulls out some change in exchange for a mint-flavoured ice-cream. Passing the ice-cream to the other excited girl beside him, he held her face between his hands and gazed into her love-struck soul. The girl looked down shyly.

The last time she held his face between her hands was that evening. Often, it would be when he misplace something as important as his keys. 

"Hey, hey. Don't panic. You'll find it alright." His tense muscle relaxed beneath her gentle palms and he sighed. This calm-down tactic works all the time with the kids she taught. She never thought that her classroom skills can be applied outside and on adults too. He was never a boy. From the first time she met him to the time she knew of his inmost secrets, he was always a man to her. Courageous, resilient and decisive. Three words she would use to sum him up until she told him of the plan. 

"So. when will you..." His voice faded as he allowed his thoughts to escape. After four years, she knew that thoughts rarely escape with him. 

"Next month"

She saw his grip tightened on the edge of the wooden bench they were sitting on as the sun sets. His eyes fixed on the moist green grass beneath their feet. She waited for his response but all she could hear was the sound of her heart playing to the mixed symphony of feelings. Perhaps this time round things would be different. When he finally exclaimed "Great! You'll do great like you always do!",  the symphony died down and there was a deep, familiar grieving silence. And then she heard her own logic screaming at her. The same message it shouted the first time he made his feelings known to her; the hour he told her of her value and worth and what an undeserving creature he is; the minute he uttered, "But I am not ready yet". The moment she realised he was not going to fight for her. It was clear: Walk away. 

She cupped his face between her hands, looked into his brown eyes and saw the fire in his soul dimmed. She smiled. 

 Akin to the moment two years ago, "Thank you," she said. And this time, she walked away.