Quiet Heart

By Mallika Badwal

Some days, I wake up, and the world feels smaller than I remember. I think about my life in fragments, pieces of the past that never quite fit together neatly. Memory is a strange thing; it stretches and bends, leaving some moments impossibly striking and others buried in the back of my mind that I can never fully grasp.  

There is a peculiar ache in remembering, not because it saddens me, but the kind of ache from remembering things that can never be recovered. I have remembered faces I have loved and have lost, some by distance, some by time and some by my own silence.  Sometimes the same fragment appears, a boy I knew, the one who never knew.  I wake up with the same dream I've had for as long as I can remember. It always begins the same way: a younger version of me, showing up at his door with a letter in my hand. 

Just as the door opens, I hear Milo meow into my ear, jumping on my bed. I get up and head downstairs to feed him. I go down to the kitchen, filling up his bowl, brushing my hand through his soft fur as he purrs.  I head back upstairs, taking a shower and getting ready for the day. 

 As I step outside, the air smells like autumn, and the sidewalks are scattered with auburn leaves. I pull my coat tighter and head toward the library. My life has become much simpler after retiring, a life once filled with chaos, now with serenity. I do admit I sometimes catch myself missing the adrenaline of being in a courtroom, but that was a different life. 

By the time I reached the library, the sun was already out, casting a golden light across the wooden steps. I pause for a moment, just to soak up the sunlight. I unlock the library door and step inside. I begin with the return cart, scanning the books and placing them back on the shelf. As I’m working, a student approaches me asking for a history book. I guide her to the shelf, smiling at her nervous excitement. As she walks away, I see her going to her table, which looks like she's on a study date. I couldn’t help but smile, to be young and in love again. 

By two o'clock, I’ve finished tidying the shelves and checking in the last few returns, and as the next person on shift comes in, I pack my things and head out. I begin to take a short walk, feeling the crunch under my shoes and feeling the cool breeze hitting my face. 

I reach my favourite coffee shop since I was in high school, the bell above the door jingles as I walk in, and the warm scent of bread envelops me. I nod at the barista, who already knows my order: a hot chocolate and a coconut macaroon. You would think after becoming an adult, I’d actually like the taste of coffee, but the only thing that wakes me up is a warm cup of hot chocolate. I take a seat by the window, watching the street outside. The barista comes over and places my order on the table. As I am about to take a sip, I pause, lifting the cup slightly, that’s… not mine. My hot chocolate should smell sweet, not bitter. I start to take a careful sip, bracing myself against the bitterness, years later, and I still would rather suffer than tell the barista my order was wrong. 

Suddenly, a voice interrupts me. “Excuse me,” he says, his voice sounding familiar. “I think our orders got switched. Looks like we both ordered the coconut macaroon,” he said with a slight laugh. I look up, startle, and freeze. There he is. Not the boy from my memories exactly, but older and wrinkly around the corners of his eyes, but with the same blueish-green eyes and that same dim smile. The man I have quietly carried in my heart for decades, and yet I never expected to see him right in front of me. 

“I-oh,” I stammer, unsure whether to stand up or disappear entirely. It felt like I was sixteen again. My mind fumbles, all my memories flooding my head all at once. “I think you’re right,” I manage to speak, my voice sounding too quiet. He smiles, the same crooked smile I remember so vividly, the one I have had traces of in my thoughts for years. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to intrude. I just noticed the coconut. I guess we have similar tastes.” 

I laugh softly, shaking my head, “Seems we do,” I say as my eyes flick to his cup and back up to his eyes. We exchange cups, and for a moment our hands brush; it's nothing, but it sends a bolt through me that I haven't felt in decades. My heart flutters, and I force myself to breathe, reminding myself to pull it together. He pauses, looking at me with something between hesitation and curiosity, then he clears his throat. 

“I’m sorry for staring,” he says. “You just… You look so familiar…. Yes! Devika, I can't believe it! I’ve been trying to remember your name for years.” I couldn’t help finding myself smiling, feigning surprise. “Mason?” I say softly. 

He shakes his head, still smiling, the way he always did when he was amused. “I should have remembered you sooner! You were always unforgettable back then.” My heart skips at the words, though I keep my face calm, even though my heart is about to pop out of my chest. “You look the same from high school, minus the wrinkles, grandpa!” I said out with a laugh. 

He chuckles, mock indignation in his eyes. “Grandpa? Really? I think you’ve been holding onto that line for decades, haven’t you?” I laugh, feeling a mix of embarrassment and excitement, my heart still racing. “Maybe,” I admit. “But some things never change, Mason. You’ve still got the same smug look when you think you're right.” 

“What can I say, Dev?” he grins. I take a sip of my hot chocolate, then tilt my head, letting a small smile curve my lips. “Oh... would you like to join me? Tell me how things have been, the life you’ve had all these years.” He hesitates for just a moment, caught off guard by my invitation, then nods, sliding into the chair across from me. “I’d like that.”

We sit together, the sound of murmurs and music fading into the background. “So, tell me, what have you been up to these years?” He leans back in his chair, taking a sip of his coffee. “Well, after university, I joined a pretty good accounting firm in the city, and even ended up opening my own firm, which has done well. I guess I've kept myself too busy. Never married or settled down.” 

I blink, caught off guard. “Never… married?” My voice came out more shocked than I expected. I’ve always imagined him settling down, someone lucky enough to have him by their side. He shrugs, a little self-conscious. “Yeah… I guess I just never found the right person.” 

“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, you were always such a great guy, Mason, I'm just shocked no one took an interest in you for this long!” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Work kept me busy, you know how it goes. One day turns into ten years, and suddenly you're sixty-five, wondering where the hell it went.” 

“Enough about me, tell me about you?” I smile, “Oh, well, I spend most of my life doing exactly what I said I would, I became a crown attorney and worked way too many hours. I retired two years ago and moved back here!” 

“A crown attorney, he says, impressed. “So, what brought you back here? Most people would rather stay in the city.”  I pause, tracing the rim of my cup with my finger. How do I tell him that part of me never really left? That even in an enormous city, there was always a part of me that thought about him and where he was. “I guess I missed the quiet, don’t get me wrong, I loved my life in the city, but after my parents passed, I wanted to come back home.”

His expression softens. “I’m sorry about your parents. I know it's hard; mine passed away a few years ago.”  “Thank you.” I take another sip of my hot chocolate, letting the warmth fill me up. “So what brought you back here?” 

“I sold the firm three years ago. I guess I’m semi-retired, I just do some consulting work here and there. I moved back here a couple of months ago and bought the old Rivera place on West Street.” 

“Oh, that house is absolutely beautiful and that porch.”  

“That’s the one, it needed a lot of work, but I've been fixing it up.” I try to picture Mason with a hammer, fixing up the porch. I couldn’t help but smile at the thought. “I never took you for the handyman type.” 

“Neither did I,” he admits. We fell into an easy conversation after that, telling more stories about our lives. He talks about the time he adopted a stray dog on his trip to Vietnam a month ago. I talked to him about the craziest cases I've had over the years and the bad dates I've been on. As we continue to talk, I notice the sun starting to glow in a golden light, realizing we’ve been talking for hours. But with him, it feels like no time has passed at all. It was always easy to talk to him in the past. 

“I should probably let you go,” Mason says, though he doesn’t stand up. His eyes lock onto mine. There's something I can't quite read. “Would you… Would you want to do this again? Maybe grab dinner sometime?” My heart does that thing again, that teenage thing that I thought had long been gone. “I’d like that.” 

“How about this Friday? I was thinking, Chens, correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t that your favourite place when we were younger?”

“It still is,” I say, surprised he even remembers. Chen’s is where most of us went on Friday nights, as cliché as it sounds. I worked part-time at Chen’s in my senior year, and Mason was on the Rugby team, so almost every Friday I’d see him and his team there eating a whole week's worth of food in one night. 

We exchange phone numbers, he stands to leave, but before turning, he looks at me softly, “It’s really good to see you again, Dev. I mean it, I've thought about you over the years.”  The words hit me like a wave, and I have to swallow hard before I can respond. “I’ve thought about you, too.”

1982

It was my junior year, and I decided to take on some senior classes. It was my last class of the day, economics. Our teacher gave us some work to do independently, and as I focused on getting my work done, I felt a tap on my shoulder. As I turned my head, I laid eyes on him. His striking honey blonde hair and those green eyes with a speckle of blue in them could leave you in a trance. I stared at him before realizing there was nothing but silence, “Um, yeah?” I said, my heart pounding. 

“Sorry to bother you, for question five, what option did you write down?” He spoke. “I-I chose C, that’s the closest economic model that fits in my opinion,” I said, trying not to stare. 

“Thanks!” He said with a smile. That smile of his, you only see in the movies and could make a girl swoon to the spot, and his dimples carved into his cheeks.  This was the first time I met Mason. 

Friday comes faster than I expect. I spend an embarrassing amount of time deciding what to wear. Ultimately, I decided on some jeans and a cardigan, nothing fancy. This was just a dinner between old friends. But my hands won't stop shaking as I apply my lipstick, and I know I’m lying to myself. I received a call from Mason telling me he’s outside. As I walk up to his car, I can't help but notice how handsome he looks, even in a button-down shirt and jeans. “You clean up nice,” he says as I slide into the passenger seat. “You clean up pretty well yourself, grandpa.” He laughs, and just like that, any nervousness fades away. 

Chen's hasn’t changed much in the last fifty years. The same red booths and paper lanterns cascading a candle-like light across the restaurant. The same smell of garlic and green onion makes my mouth water every time I walk in. Mrs. Chen, who at this point is ninety, greets us at the door. “Devika! Mason! My goodness, look at you two! I always knew you lovebirds would end up together!” I open my mouth to correct her, but Mason just smiles and says, “Good to see you, Mrs. Chen, you still look as radiant as ever!” She seats us in a corner booth, the same booth where I used to sit with Julia, watching Mason across the restaurant with his football friends, wishing I had the courage to walk over and talk to him.

"She thinks we're married," I say once Mrs. Chen has bustled away. "I know." Mason grins. "I didn't have the heart to correct her." 

We order dumplings and lo mein and spring rolls, probably too much food for two people, but neither of us cares. The conversation flows even easier than it did at the coffee shop. We talk about everything and nothing. "Do you ever feel like you blinked and suddenly you were old?" Mason asks, popping a dumpling into his mouth. "Every single day," I admit. "I look in the mirror and think, who is that woman? Where did the time go?" "Right? I still feel twenty-five in my head. And then I try to get up off the floor after fixing something, and my knees remind me I'm not."

As the evening goes on, I find myself relaxing in a way I haven’t felt in years. “I’m glad I ran into you,” Mason says as we finish up. “I've missed this town, but it's been lonely, it's nice to have someone to talk to who remembers the old days.” 

“I get it, I’m glad you moved back too.” We get up to pay the bill, as I pull out my wallet, Mason has already tapped his card on the machine, ready to leave. As he drives me home, I watch the streets pass by, the same streets I used to walk, imagining what my future looked like. My life has had its accomplishments, but I have left so much unsaid, but maybe just maybe it's not too late. As Mason pulls up to my driveway, he turns to me. “Same time next week?”  “You bet!” He walks me to my door, and for a moment, we just stand there. A part of me wonders if he’s going to kiss me, but he just squeezes my hand and says goodnight. I shouldn’t expect anything else from him. He didn’t like me like that back then, and not now. 

1983

The winter formal was in a week, and everyone was talking about it, not to mention all the adorable confessions to ask the other to go. Julia, my best friend, was going with Adam Liow, and she was over the moon. I was incredibly happy for her, but I couldn’t help but feel the knot in my stomach. I heard from Adam that Mason was going with Jessica Yui. Of course, he was. She was pretty and perfect, and they looked good together in a way that made me want to cry. 

I thought to myself, this was a silly crush, but it has been a year since I’ve liked him, and every time I’ve tried to stop, I end up falling harder. Sometimes I wish he had a horrible personality. 

“You should still go,” Julia insisted as we sat in the cafeteria. “We can all go as a group.” “Thanks, but I don’t want to be a third wheel.” 

“You won't be, there’ll be a whole group with us.” But I knew if I went, I’d only be focused on one person. Mason. The thought of watching Mason dance with Jessica, watching him smile at her the way I wished he would smile at me, would kill me. In the end, I didn’t go. I told Julia that I had an essay I had due and spent the night watching romance films with my mother. 

The weeks turned into months, and Mason and I fell into a routine. We would have dinner every Friday, exploring a new place in town or the city. Some days, we would go out on bike rides on the trails with his dog Ollie. Sometimes Mason would visit me in the library together, and I would show him my favourite books, and he would show me his. We become friends, real friends, in a way we never were in high school, and it was wonderful and terrible all at once, because every moment with him made me happy, but a constant reminder of what I've never dared to say to him. I love him. I’ve always loved him, since I was seventeen and didn’t know any better. I love him now at sixty-five, when we're old and slowly running out of time. But I don’t have it in me to tell him anything. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if I lose him? I can’t afford that loss.

One Saturday, Mason invites me other to help him paint his living room. I show up in some old jeans and a t-shirt with my hair tied up. “I can’t believe you actually came,” he says, answering he door with paint all over his arms. 

“You said you needed help, and who am I to ignore the needy?” I say with a slight chuckle. “Ha ha, you’re very funny, Dev. Come in and grab a paintbrush.” We spend the afternoon painting, listening to old music on his record player, dancing and singing to our favourite oldies. As the song ends, Mason says, “Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course,” I say, putting my paint roller down. “Why didn’t we ever hand out in high school? I mean, we were friendly, but we were never friends.” My heart starts to race. This is dangerous territory. I can’t tell him that I was so in love with him that every time I tried to talk to him, my mind would become mush. “I don’t know, I guess we just had different groups.”

“I mean, yes, but for two years we almost had the same class schedule, I’d see you every day.” 

“You were very outgoing, Mason. I kept to myself a lot back then.”  

He stops painting, looking right at me. “I always thought you were the smartest person in the class, and you were always funny. I’d hear you crack jokes with Julia all the time.” I stare at him in disbelief. “What… Really me?!?” 

“I can’t like you intimated me,” he admitted with a flush of embarrassment on his face. “Well, you intimated me too in high school; you were always good with people and made everyone feel like your friend.” He smiles, but there is something sad in his smile. “I wish we had been good friends back then.” 

“We’re friends now,” I say. “Yeah, we are.” 

1984

The day had finally come, graduation. I was valedictorian, which meant I had to give a speech in front of the entire class. I remember pretending my speech wherever I went, making sure it was perfect. I didn’t want to make it boring, but I also didn’t want an over-the-top speech either. 

On the day of graduation, I went up to the podium, looking at all my classmates, feeling my anxiety creep up. I took a deep breath and let the words flow. I talked about the uncertainty of the future, about not being afraid to fail and how these were the years to explore who we are and the relationships we’ll meet. And the whole time, I was looking for one face in the crowd. Mason said two rows back, looking at me with his thumbs up and the same smile that made me fall for him. 

After the ceremony, there was an after-party. Julia was crying with her arm around, about leaving me to travel across the world for school. I grabbed a lukewarm beer and watched Mason across the yard, laughing with his friends. I turned to Julia, “I think I’m going to do it.” I said determined. “Do what?”

“Tell Mason how I have felt about him for the past two years.” There was no better time than now, right? I walked up to Mason as he waved me over. “Hey.” He spoke. “You killed that speech.” 

“Thanks, I actually wanted to talk to you about something,” But before I could get another word out, a voice called from behind. “Mase, babe, come on, we're leaving!” Jessica yelled, and Mason turned to her, “Yeah, I’ll catch up, just give me a second.” He turned back to me, “Sorry about that. What were you going to say?” My stomach twisted hearing the word babe. “I didn’t know you were together,” I said, trying not to sound jealous. “Oh, yeah, we started dating last month. Kind of out of nowhere, to be honest.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right,” I said, trying to keep my tears inside. “Uhm, I just wanted to say congrats, I heard you got a business scholarship!” I lied through my teeth. “Thanks! I can't believe we made it.” 

Jessica called one last time, and Masson stepped closer, giving me a tight hug. “Take care of yourself, Devika.” He walked off, his hand finding hers. I stood there with a tear running down my cheek.

Maybe that’s how it was always supposed to happen. It's for the better, he doesn’t know.

As the new year comes around, Mason and I go for a walk in the park, in our thick coats and scarves. “I used to hate winter,” I admit. “All those years in the city, dealing with slush and traffic, but here the snow actually looks beautiful.”  “I agree.” We walk in silence for a while, then I get the bright idea to scoop up a handful of snow and launch it straight at Mason’s face. “Hey!” he laughs, brushing the snow from his face. “So, that’s how it’s going to be, huh?” 

“Maybe,” I tease, already running away. He bends down, grabbing his own handful of snow, and before I run any further, a snowball hits me square in the face. I start laughing, trying to dodge another snowball as it just misses my hat. Soon we’re both running through the park, shouting and running. Finally, out of breath, I fall back into the snow, still laughing with Mason. “Truce?” I try to let out. “Truce,” he agrees, lying with me in the snow. 

I turn my head, looking at him. It's easy. Comfortable. Everything I never let myself have. And it's killing me. At some point, I stopped lying to myself. My heart will always belong to him. After the last few months of actually getting to know him and not the version of him in my head, I am in love with the way he talks to everyone with such kindness. The way he remembers how I like my hot chocolate with more milk than water. The way he listens when I talk, he really listens. The way he laughs at his own jokes before he finishes telling them. The way that he acts so humble when he is one of the smartest people I know. 

I am in love with him, and he thinks we’re nothing more than friends. 

The next evening, I am at home with Milo curled in my lap as I call Julia. “How are things with Mason?” she asks in that tone where she already knows. “Fine. Good. We’re good friends.” 

“Dev.” 

“What?” 

“Are you going to tell him?” I’m quiet for a long moment. “Tell him what?” 

“Don’t play dumb. You’ve been in love with him since we were kids. Are you really going to waste whatever time you have left pretending you’re not? I have seen you put everyone else before you; now it's time to put your own happiness first.” I hate that she knows me so well. After we hang up, Julia’s words echo in my head. What am I so afraid of? Rejection? At my age, what does rejection even matter? Life is short and getting shorter every day. I don’t want to spend whatever years I have left wondering “what if”? I’ve already wasted fifty years. I refuse to waste another day. 

The decision, once made, feels both terrifying and liberating. I am going to tell him how I feel. I am finally going to say the words I have avoided. I spend a week rehearsing in my head. Mason, I need to tell you something. Mason, I’ve been in love with you for the past fifty years. None of it sounds right. I mean, how do you confess fifty years of unrequited love in a single conversation? Finally, I decided to write it own first, I was always better getting my emotions out in writing. 

I sat at my kitchen table, and I wrote: 

My dearest Mason, 

I don’t know if I will decide to give you this letter, but I am writing it anyway. I need to say things that I should have said back on graduation day. 

I have been in love with you since we were juniors, or even before. I always caught myself staring at you; you were always so charismatic. So alive in a way that made it impossible not to notice you. Even in the little things, like the way you laughed at something that wasn’t even funny or how you were always there to help someone.  I remember when we took calculus in our senior year, you were always good with math, and there was an equation that I could not solve for the life of me, and I asked you to help me out. You said you needed to figure it out. I assumed you didn’t want to help me, but you came back and taught me step by step how to do it. 

I went through my whole life carrying you in my heart. I dated other people, had relationships, built a career, but there was always a part of me that ached for you. A part I count never give to anyone else. When I moved back here and our drinks got switched, and you smiled at me with that same smile I remembered. I felt as if I were sixteen again. 

The past months have been extraordinary, getting to know you and becoming one of your closest friends has truly never made me happier. You’re kind and funny, not to mention easy on the eyes still, and I love you even more now than I did back then. 

I know we’re just friends, and I know you probably don’t feel the same way. But even if there is a slight chance we could be something more, I need to take that risk. I’m tired of being afraid of not saying the things that matter. 

So, Mason, I love you, and I needed you to know. You deserved to know. 

Yours truly, 

Dev

I fold the letter carefully, my hands shaking, and slip it into an envelope, tucking it into my coat pocket. Tomorrow. I’ll tell him tomorrow. I’ll go to his house and finally tell him what I've been keeping for nearly a century. 

The next morning, I wake up with my heart racing, the letter still in my coat pocket. This is really happening, I’m doing it today. I try to eat something, but can't. I take a shower, change my clothes four times, and I feel ridiculous. I finally decide on what to wear, and before I leave, I call Mason around ten. He answers on the first ring. “Dev! Hey, I was just going to ask if you want to come over for lunch. I finally figured out how to use the toaster ov-”

“Actually,” I interrupt, “I was hoping I could come by this morning. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”  A pause. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yes. I just… need to tell you something important. In person.” 

“Of course, I’ll put on a hot chocolate on the stove.” 

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”  I hang up and stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, thinking to myself that this is a long time coming. I put my coat on and head for the door. The walk to Mason's house is around fifteen minutes. I've walked to his place hundreds of times. The letter sits heavy in my pockets. I keep touching it, making sure it's still there. 

The weather today is beautiful; it's still quite cold, but the sun reflecting on my face keeps me warm. The world just looks peaceful today. As I keep walking, Mason’s house comes into view, and my heart starts pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. Not from nerves anymore, but something else. Something wrong. 

I stop in my tracks, pressing my hand to my chest. Probably just anxiety. I am about to tell the man I have loved for fifty years that I am in love with him. Of course, my heart is racing. Breathe Dec. Just Breathe. 

I try to take another step, but suddenly, there is a crushing pressure in my chest, like a boulder on my ribcage. My left arm feels numb. The sun is too bright, everything is too bright, and I can’t- 

I try to call out, but not a word comes out of my mouth. My legs give out, and I'm falling. The last thing I see before everything goes dark is Mason’s front door, so close, just a few more steps away. 

The letter is still in my pocket, unread. 

Maybe in another life, I won't be so late.

By Mallika Badwal