Worth It

Cruz tied her running shoes in double knots, letting out a tense breath. She’d planned to spend her Thursday evening doing laps around Washington Square Park—trying to outrun the frustrations of the past week—but the chilly breeze and threatening rain made her reconsider. Instead, she found herself wandering the streets near NYU, searching for anything to quell the turmoil inside her.

Ever since the near-kiss with Aaliyah, her thoughts had spiraled between guilt, hurt, and longing. I should’ve never let it get this far, she told herself for the hundredth time. But the hurt festered, refusing to fade.

She paused outside a trendy bar and grill, bright lights spilling onto the sidewalk. Some of her track teammates might be inside, blowing off steam after a tough practice. Could be a good distraction. Cruz slid her phone from her pocket, scanning for messages. Nothing urgent. With a resigned shrug, she decided to go in, hoping to lose herself in the chatter of friends, maybe a cheap drink.

Inside, the bar was crowded, music thumping faintly from overhead speakers. She spotted Randy and Tucker at a high table in the corner, laughing with a few others from the track team. They waved her over.

“Manuelos!” Randy called, raising a half-empty glass. “You alone?”

“Yeah,” she muttered, forcing a small smile. “Needed a break from reality.”

Tucker smirked knowingly. “Reality has a name, and it rhymes with T.A.—”

Cruz silenced him with a glare. “Not tonight, man.”

“Fine,” Tucker said, rolling his eyes but letting it go. He gestured to a stool. “Sit. You look like you need something stronger than water.”

Cruz took a seat, setting her phone on the table. A sense of relief unfurled—she could at least pretend normalcy among friends, avoiding any mention of near-kisses or heartbreak.

--

Meanwhile, Aaliyah tugged at the collar of her simple but elegant dress, nerves coiling tighter with each step. The Arcadia’s sleek awning glistened in the streetlights, rain droplets rolling down its curved surface. Ehsan had picked a corner table, or so he’d said in his text. She forced her shoulders back, hoping her face betrayed nothing of her dread.

Just one hour, she reminded herself. Then I can leave.

She stepped inside, greeted by warm lighting and soft music. A hostess in black led her to a small table near the window. Candlelight flickered across polished silverware. Ehsan stood as she approached, wearing a tailored suit, dark hair combed back. He greeted her with a polite kiss on each cheek, though she stiffened at the contact.

“Aaliyah,” he said, pulling out her chair. “I’m glad you came.”

She forced a polite smile. “Let’s make this quick, okay?”

A flicker of disappointment darkened his features, but he regained composure. “Of course. But it’s been a while—I’d love to catch up.”

She sat, folding her hands in her lap, ignoring the flicker of stares from a nearby table. He’s not a bad guy, she reminded herself, just not who I want. But the memory of her family’s push for this dinner weighed heavily.

Ehsan resumed his seat. A waiter approached, lighting the candle in the center of their table before handing over menus. Soft piano music drifted from hidden speakers, lending the atmosphere an undeniable romantic vibe.

“Any wine preference?” Ehsan asked, scanning the wine list.

Aaliyah shook her head. “Sparkling water’s fine.” She wanted a clear head. This dinner already felt too intimate, sending guilt clawing at her chest. I shouldn’t be here at all.

--

Back at the bar across the street, Cruz tried to engage with the easy banter of her teammates. Randy joked about the upcoming track meet, Tucker teased Tex about fumbling a baton exchange, and a few other friends chimed in about the weekend’s party plans. They invited Cruz to weigh in, but her responses were curt.

Eventually, she excused herself and wandered to the bar’s front window, phone in hand, hoping the cooler air by the entrance might clear her head. The large glass panes provided a partial view of the rainy street. City lights reflected in the puddles, car headlights slicing through the dark. Better than staying cooped up.

She sipped from a soda—she wasn’t in the mood for alcohol—staring vacantly at passersby clutching umbrellas. A flicker of movement in the restaurant across the way caught her eye: warm, golden light pouring through large windows. Diners sitting at candlelit tables. Fancy place, she thought absently. Not my scene.

She was about to turn away when a figure at one of those window tables made her freeze. A petite woman in an elegant dress, dark hair framing her face. No way… Cruz blinked, heart lurching. It was Aaliyah, seated across from a man in a suit. They appeared deep in conversation, candlelight dancing over their features.

Shock iced through Cruz’s veins. She’s out with a guy? Looking that cozy? She felt a surge of something raw—jealousy, confusion, heartbreak. Her pulse thundered.

She watched as the man reached across the table, resting his hand lightly on Aaliyah’s. Aaliyah didn’t jerk away. That must be… her boyfriend? Or something more? The rational part of Cruz’s brain warred with the hot flush of anger pulsing through her.

I thought she said this couldn’t happen because of boundaries. The memory of Aaliyah pulling away from their almost-kiss stormed Cruz’s mind. But she can go out with some guy in a suit?

Her fists clenched at her sides. How stupid am I?

--

Inside The Arcadia, Ehsan leaned forward, sliding the wine list aside. “You look amazing tonight, Aaliyah. Have you considered taking a break from your PhD? Travel with me? I’m heading to Dubai next month.”

Aaliyah stiffened, removing her hand from his discreetly. “No. I’m finishing my program. I told you that.”

He sipped his red wine, unwavering. “But you could do it later. What’s the rush? You’re under so much pressure—maybe a few months away would give you perspective.”

She frowned. “Ehsan, you don’t understand. My entire career path depends on completing my PhD on schedule. I can’t just drop it because you want a getaway.”

He sighed, leaning back. “All right, all right. I just hate seeing you stressed.”

Aaliyah fought the urge to roll her eyes. He doesn’t get it. “I appreciate the concern, but it’s not negotiable.”

The waiter arrived, taking orders. Aaliyah barely glanced at the menu and asked for a light fish dish. Ehsan ordered a steak, adding a request for another glass of wine. As soon as the waiter left, Ehsan’s tone turned more personal.

“Your mother was thrilled you accepted tonight’s invitation, by the way,” he said. “She’s hopeful we can reconnect.”

Aaliyah’s stomach churned. So that’s it. A family reunion plan. She inhaled, trying to quell her rising frustration. “Listen, Ehsan… can we keep my parents out of this for now? I just wanted to talk, see how you’re doing. That’s all.”

He nodded, though a hint of a smirk graced his lips. “Sure. I just want you to be happy. If that means continuing with your studies, I’ll support it. We’d make a powerful team, you know.”

She closed her eyes briefly, the conversation grating on her nerves. A ‘powerful team’? He’s talking like we’re already engaged. She swallowed the retort, deciding it best not to spark an argument in a fancy restaurant.

--

From her vantage at the bar’s window, Cruz felt bile rise in her throat as she saw the suited man’s hand on Aaliyah’s. The candlelit scene felt too intimate, too romantic. Her heart panged with betrayal. I guess I was just a passing thrill—someone to flirt with while she’s dating him.

She wrestled with the impulse to storm over and demand an explanation. But common sense prevailed: She’s not mine. She never was. The wave of hurt was nearly crippling, jealousy surging like a hot blade in her gut.

Randy ambled over, frowning at Cruz’s rigid posture. “You okay, man?”

Cruz jerked her head, eyes still locked on the scene across the street. “Look,” she croaked.

Randy followed her gaze. “What— Ms. Amrohi? Who’s that guy?”

Cruz forced a bitter laugh. “Guess that’s her boyfriend. Or fiancé. I don’t know.” The words tasted sour on her tongue. All that talk about boundaries, only to go out on a fancy date with someone else. Why did I even bother?

Randy whistled low. “Yikes. Maybe it’s just a friend?”

Cruz shook her head, heart twisting. “Friends don’t hold hands by candlelight.”

She watched as the man leaned closer, seemingly whispering something. Aaliyah’s expression looked serious, but from this distance, Cruz couldn’t interpret it. She’s definitely not pushing him away. The pit in her stomach sank deeper.

Tucker and Tex, having noticed the commotion, joined them. Cruz waved them off, not wanting more pity. “I need to go,” she murmured, spinning on her heel and snatching her jacket. She couldn’t bear another second watching that.

Randy called after her. “Manuelos, wait—”

But Cruz was already pushing through the bar’s exit, cold air slamming into her. She marched down the sidewalk, footsteps echoing. She didn’t care where she was going—anywhere but here.

--

Inside The Arcadia, the waiter served their meals, placing a delicate fish dish before Aaliyah and a medium-rare steak in front of Ehsan. Candles flickered as the outside darkness deepened. Rain streaked the windows, blurring the view of the street.

Mid-meal, Ehsan cleared his throat. “So, I heard from your mother that you’ve been… conflicted lately. I know we had issues in the past, but maybe it’s time we put them aside.”

Aaliyah set her fork down, swallowing the bite of fish. “Ehsan, I’m not interested in reconciling romantically. I’ve told you that.” Her voice came out steadier than she felt.

He leaned forward, setting his wine aside. “Your parents hope we can at least explore the possibility. We were good together once, Aaliyah. Don’t you remember?”

She grimaced, remembering the stifling pressure to be his perfect partner. “We were never truly good. You wanted me to give up my academic pursuits and become…” She trailed off, voice tightening. A quiet, obedient wife.

Ehsan frowned. “I didn’t phrase it like that. I just wanted what’s best for you.”

She pressed her palms to the table, fighting for calm. “You wanted me to fit a mold. My family agreed. But that’s not who I am.”

He hesitated, then gently reached for her hand again. She allowed it briefly, though every instinct bristled. He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry if you felt stifled. But we can find a middle ground. Come on, you know me—I’m not a monster.”

She let out a shaky exhale. “I know you’re not. You’re just not what I want.” She glanced at the window, rain streaming down. If she only knew how to finalize this once and for all…

Ehsan’s tone turned resigned. “So you’re rejecting me again?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes. I’m sorry. I came tonight because my family kept pushing, and I wanted to be respectful. But there’s no future for us in that way.”

The words rang clear, leaving Ehsan silent for a moment. He slowly nodded, removing his hand from hers. “I appreciate the honesty. My father will be disappointed, but I can handle it.”

A pang of relief washed over her, though guilt lingered. “Thank you. I hope we can remain… civil.”

He offered a sad smile. “We can try.”

--

Outside, Cruz wandered aimlessly through side streets, the drizzling rain matting her hair to her forehead. She pulled her jacket tighter, heart stinging with each breath. She’s with him. Why can’t I be enough?

Pedestrians with umbrellas skirted around her, a sea of strangers ignoring the lone figure trudging through half-lit sidewalks. Her mind replayed the flicker of candlelight on Aaliyah’s face, the gentle way the man’s hand covered hers. She never said she was single, her thoughts mocked. How naive to think she wanted me.

She nearly stepped into a puddle, stumbling as she caught her balance. Focus. Go home or something. But the dorm felt suffocating. She considered Bobby’s place or a friend’s couch, anywhere to avoid facing her heartbreak alone.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she fumbled for it, blinking away raindrops. Bobby’s name flashed on the screen:

[Bobby]: Where’d you go? Are you okay?

Cruz contemplated ignoring it but finally typed:

[Cruz]: I’m around. Saw her with some guy. I’m done. Don’t want to talk.

[Bobby]: Let me find you, yeah?

[Cruz]: No. Let me be. I’ll text later.

She shut off her phone, not wanting pity or comfort. The raw ache in her chest demanded solitude. I hate feeling this vulnerable, she thought, tears pricking her eyes despite the rain.

--

Dinner ended on a subdued note. Aaliyah managed a few more bites of fish, Ehsan finished his steak, and they parted after settling the bill—Aaliyah insisted on splitting, refusing to owe him even that courtesy.

Outside The Arcadia, rain pelted the sidewalk. Ehsan stood under the awning with her, collar turned up. “Let me call you a cab.”

She shook her head. “I’ll find my own way. Goodnight, Ehsan.”

“Take care, Aaliyah.” He offered a polite nod, no longer pressing for affection. “I’ll let your parents know we talked.”

She gave a terse smile, stepping into the drizzling night. At least that’s over. Relief mingled with exhaustion. She felt lighter having drawn a firm boundary with Ehsan, but her chest tightened with thoughts of Cruz. I can’t exactly run to her, can I?

Hailing a taxi proved easy in the glitzy neighborhood. She slid into the back seat, shoulders sagging. “Greenwich Village, please,” she told the driver softly, giving her apartment address.

As the cab pulled away, her mind drifted. She imagined what the dinner might have looked like to an outsider: a couple, sharing a romantic meal. Anyone would assume we were dating. The realization churned her stomach. I hope no one I know saw.

But she pushed the worry aside, telling herself it didn’t matter. The only person whose opinion might matter was Cruz—and they were barely speaking. No, we ended that path. Right?

She sighed, leaning her head against the cool window. Streetlights flickered by in a blur. I wish I could talk to her. I want to explain. But explaining meant re-opening the door to trouble. She clenched her eyes shut, letting the city’s hum lull her into a painful acceptance.

--

It was past eleven when Cruz finally returned to Greenwich Hall, clothes damp, feet aching from aimless wandering. She slipped into the shared dorm, relieved to find Bobby not in the common area—probably off searching for her or giving her space. Good. She wanted to collapse alone.

In her small bedroom, she dropped onto the bed, hugging a pillow to her chest. Rain drummed on the windowpane, echoing her mood. I’m so stupid, she thought again, tears threatening. She told me it was professional boundaries, but apparently that doesn’t apply to the suit guy.

Her phone lay silent on the bedside table. She turned it on to see if Bobby had messaged again—just one new text:

[Bobby]: Just checking if you’re safe. Let me know.

Cruz typed a quick reply:

[Cruz]: I’m home. Fine. Talk tomorrow.

She flung the phone aside, burying her face in the pillow. Exhaustion warred with heartbreak, tears finally slipping free. Let her have her perfect man and her perfect life, she seethed, bitterness coiling in her gut. I was just a distraction, anyway.

Sleep claimed her eventually, laced with fitful dreams of candlelit tables and half-finished confessions.

--

Across town, Aaliyah reached her apartment, discarding her heels by the door. Rainwater dripped from her coat. She shrugged it off, leaving it on a hook, and moved into the living room, flipping on a soft lamp. The place felt silent as a tomb.

She replayed the dinner in her mind, Ehsan’s resigned acceptance, the release of that final expectation. One less chain, she thought, though it didn’t soothe the knot in her chest. Because another chain remained—her tangled feelings for Cruz.

She wandered to the window, pressing a hand against the glass. Raindrops trickled on the other side, city lights shimmering. Did I make the right choice? Ehsan’s gone, but so is Cruz. She pictured Cruz’s eyes when they almost kissed—yearning, hesitant. Why can’t I move on?

Her phone chimed, a text from Malika:

[Malika]: So how’d dinner go? You’re not texting, which means it can’t be good.

Aaliyah sank onto the couch, replying briefly:

[Aaliyah]: Told him no. It’s over.

[Malika]: Good. Now you can breathe. What about Ms. Track Star?

Aaliyah’s chest tightened. She typed:

[Aaliyah]: That’s over too.

The reply from Malika came swiftly:

[Malika]: Are you sure? Or just scared?

She closed her eyes, not wanting to engage in a lengthy debate. She tossed her phone aside, hugging a throw pillow. Fear and guilt braided in her chest, leaving her numb. Maybe I am scared, she admitted silently, tears pricking her eyes. She’d spent the evening rejecting one suitor, but the pain in her heart came from rejecting the one person she truly wanted.

--

Morning dawned with a gray sky and leftover puddles on the sidewalks. Cruz woke feeling as if she’d barely slept—head pounding, eyes gritty. She hauled herself to a cold shower, ignoring the curiosity in Bobby’s glance as she passed the living room.

When she emerged, hair damp, Bobby perched on the couch, arms crossed. “Wanna talk now?” she asked gently.

Cruz sank into a chair, exhausted. “Not really. But go ahead.”

Bobby studied her for a moment. “I’m sorry you saw that. Could be a misunderstanding.”

Cruz forced a laugh, hollow. “Maybe, but it sure looked like a date. Candlelight, suit, her wearing a nice dress. That’s not just ‘friends.’”

Bobby grimaced. “True… but maybe it’s family pressure or something. You know her background is complicated.”

Cruz shrugged, heart still raw. “Doesn’t matter. She doesn’t want me, that’s all I need to know.”

Bobby reached out, squeezing Cruz’s shoulder. “I get it. Just… try not to spiral. You have a big track meet soon, you’re close to finishing your paper. Focus on that.”

Cruz nodded, tears burning her eyes but refusing to fall. “Yeah, I will.” She forced herself to stand, clearing her throat. “I’m heading out. Need fresh air.”

She left before Bobby could protest, thoughts swirling. If that’s who she chooses, I’m done hurting over this.

--

Aaliyah spent her morning drafting dissertation notes in her apartment, the tension in her shoulders never easing. She thought of emailing Cruz about the UN contact’s official confirmation, but the memory of how they parted last time made her hesitate. I should be professional, that’s all. No personal messages.

At noon, she typed a concise email:

Cruz,

Here’s the final date/time for your interview with the UN field worker. Please confirm your availability.

-Aaliyah

She hovered, debating whether to add something like I hope you’re doing well, but forced herself not to. She hit send, feeling an ache in her chest. This is how it has to be.

Her phone chimed again with Malika pestering about the dinner’s outcome. She ignored it. I’m so tired.

--

Time ticked on. Cruz flung herself into track training, ignoring the pang in her heart. Aaliyah poured herself into dissertation work, studiously avoiding any personal mention of Cruz. Both felt the drag of miscommunication heavy around them—Cruz believing Aaliyah was enjoying a romance with the suited stranger, Aaliyah oblivious to how her dinner might have been misconstrued.

In the swirl of assignments and late-night library sessions, they maintained an icy distance. Bobby and the track bros noticed Cruz’s brooding silence; Malika, Nala, and Nashwa bombarded Aaliyah with worried texts. But neither woman confessed the real depth of their pain, each assuming the other had chosen a separate path.

The moment for honesty had passed, slipping through the cracks of candlelight and rain-soaked nights. Whether a second chance would ever emerge remained uncertain, the city’s hum swallowing their unspoken regrets.