EP05 – I Wish I Hadn't Done That
He didn't order coffee right away.
Didn't reach for a book.
Just sat there—
his hand resting lightly on the table,
eyes fixed on the window.
"This place…
it makes you think about things you haven't in a while,"
he said,
breaking the silence only after a long pause.
The Master didn't lift his head.
He never did,
not until someone finished what they came to say.
"If I hadn't done what I did back then,
maybe things would've turned out better."
"But the strangest part is…
even though I know
that version of me couldn't have made a different choice,
I still keep regretting it."
"That's the dumbest part, isn't it?
Knowing the past won't change—
but still playing it on loop.
Pause. Rewind.
Mute. Replay.
Over and over again."
He picked up the book left on the table.
Opened to a marked page.
"Regret doesn't stop when we realize the past can't change.
It begins.
It repeats not because there's hope—
but because there's nothing else left to hold."
He read it.
Closed it.
And said,
"That's the cruelest line I've read in a long time.
Because it's right."
He drained the last of his cup.
"If I ever let go of regret…
what would take its place?"
The Master finally spoke.
Still calm.
"Maybe nothing.
Maybe that's okay, too.
Some days,
it's enough to be empty."
He stood.
Didn't say thank you.
Didn't need to.
But at the door,
he paused.
Looked at the breeze through the window.
"…Funny.
Letting go of it for a second—
even the wind feels a little different."
****
EP06 – If Goodbyes Had Manners
From the very start,
they didn't speak.
The man and woman sat across from each other,
no eye contact,
no menu in hand.
The Master didn't ask what they wanted.
He didn't need to.
He just placed a bitter black coffee and a gentle latte
on the table between them.
"If we fight here too,"
the woman said at last,
"then we really are pathetic."
The man didn't respond.
Just sipped his coffee,
his silence thick with everything he wasn't saying.
"I liked you,"
she said.
"That's why I couldn't let go.
Or maybe… I just didn't know how."
"The good memories and the bad ones…
they got all tangled.
One sticky knot that kept pulling me back."
She opened the book in front of her.
A single line was underlined.
"Some relationships only become quiet in memory
after they end cleanly."
The man finally spoke.
"So…
is this clean?"
She shook her head.
"Not yet.
But today—
just here,
just this once—
let's try to end it with some dignity."
She lifted her cup.
"This coffee…
let's make it
our last courtesy to each other."
She left first.
He didn't follow.
At the door,
she paused,
then said quietly—
"…That's strange.
Everywhere else, we failed to break up.
But here,
it worked."
****
EP07 – They're Still Inside Me, But I Have to Live My Life
That day,
the visitor placed a photograph on the table.
A black-and-white image,
worn at the edges.
The person in the photo was smiling,
but not at the camera—
as if they were looking at something off-frame,
feeling the breeze.
"They've been gone for two years now,"
the visitor said softly.
"Every day,
I thought of them.
I cried.
I even started mimicking how they talked."
"I think…
I've been closer to them after they died
than when they were alive."
The Master stayed silent.
Because sometimes,
silence is the most accurate response.
"But then I realized—
I wasn't letting them go.
And I started living like someone who'd died too."
"I kept thinking…
this isn't what they would've wanted."
They opened the book in front of them.
Read a line slowly.
"Remember,
but don't disappear into the memory.
When you begin walking again on your own two feet,
that's when they're no longer locked inside—
but walking beside you."
"I've decided…
not to carry them next to me,
but within me.
And more importantly—
to make space for myself too."
"Maybe forgetting isn't respect.
Maybe continuing to live
is the truest way to honor them."
This was not a moment of closure.
It was a decision.
A small one.
But it echoed in the quiet.
And the Master,
as always,
listened.
***
EP08 – If I Had Just Taken One More Step That Day
The person who entered the shelter that day
barely made a sound.
Too quiet.
Too composed.
So composed, in fact,
that their stillness made all the unspoken emotion louder.
They didn't speak.
Just sat.
The Master brought a coffee,
along with a book already opened to a bookmarked page.
On the slip of paper, it read:
"Even though I know I can't go back,
my heart keeps returning to that moment."
After a few sips,
they finally broke the silence.
"I still wonder, sometimes…
what if I had just taken one more step that day?"
"What if I had said something—
just one more word?"
"What if I hadn't turned around so quickly?"
"What if I had looked them in the eyes,
just once more?"
Their voice wavered.
Not from volume,
but from something deeper—
like a person quietly drowning
in their own memory.
The Book Title:
Would I Still Choose the Same Path If I Went Back?
"We will make the same choices again.
But next time,
maybe we'll cry better.
Maybe we'll hold each other better."
"That's what hurts the most," they said.
"If I went back,
I'd probably do it the same way."
"But my heart…
it keeps asking,
'Why did you do it like that?'"
The Master placed the coffee gently in front of them.
"That question…
maybe it's not about finding an answer.
Maybe it's how we keep that memory alive."
They stood.
Left quietly.
But on the table,
a bookmark remained.
It simply said:
"I'm still walking that day.
But now,
I'm learning to step toward the next one."