She watches him from a distance, the quiet ache of his presence undeniable. Havriel, once so broken by the loss of Sierra, now stands with someone new.
His eyes, which used to carry the weight of endless grief, now seem softer, as if he’s found a way to breathe again. But that doesn’t make it any easier for her, for the ones who still remember.
Sierra, who used to be his everything, is gone. And in her place, there’s a girl who holds his hand, who’s the recipient of the love Havriel swore once belonged only to her. His words echo in the silence, cutting through the stillness like a blade: "I love you, but not the way I used to love you before. I learned how to love again. Is that unfair, Sierra?"
There’s a kind of pain that comes with hearing those words. Not just for Sierra, but for anyone who’s been there, watching him try to piece himself back together while the memory of her haunts him in ways he can’t escape.
It’s not that he’s forgotten her—no, that’s not it at all.
But time has taken what used to be so raw, so intense, and dulled it into something else. A memory, yes, but not a love that still burns the way it once did.
He doesn’t realize how much it hurts to watch him move on. How much it hurts to hear him say he’s learned to love again, like it’s something that could ever be the same.
Maybe it’s not fair, but maybe it’s unfair to expect him to stay broken forever.
But the thing about loss, the thing about love that’s been torn away, is that it’s never as easy as finding someone new. It’s the way your heart doesn’t ever fully heal.
The way the pieces might shift and rearrange, but the scars remain, even if they fade over time.
And there’s a silent sorrow in watching him walk away from a love that once seemed eternal, from the girl he promised to never forget.
Because even though he’s moving forward, even though he’s learned to love again, Sierra is still with him, buried somewhere deep inside.
She’s the ghost of every laugh, every moment they shared, every “I love you” that now feels like a lie.
He may never ask himself if it’s unfair. He may never understand the depth of the pain it causes those left behind to watch him let go, to watch him love again. But for those who remember, for those who can’t forget, the hurt never really disappears. It lingers, quietly, like the fading echo of something that was once everything.
