“It could come back to haunt you.”

Dina closes the door.

I recognize the look on her face immediately.

The kind you wear when something has followed you all the way home.

Every evening, we tell each other about our day.

Tonight, she comes home from a party I couldn’t make.

She drops her bag.

“Do you know what those assholes told me?”

I look at her.

“They said I should apologize.

I did everything the right way.

But apparently I should protect my future.

The worst part is, they’re the same people who spent years complaining about their boss… and now they’re telling me I should go back and make peace with him.

That the world is small.

That this could come back to haunt me.

That I need to think about what’s next.

Because… you never know.”

She stops.

“I had every right to resign, didn’t I?

I stayed professional until the very end.”

“No question.”

I’ve heard this conversation before.

With friends.

At work.

Over dinner.

Every time someone leaves a job.

Moves to another city.

Walks away from a relationship.

Or leaves a life that looked perfect from the outside.

Always the same words.

Are you sure?

Think carefully.

You’ll regret it.

Be careful.

As if the greatest danger were never staying.

Only leaving.

We step onto the balcony.

The city is quiet.

Somewhere in the distance, a car starts.

I light her cigarette.

She takes a drag.

Then hands it to me.

I look at her.

“You know…”

She waits.

“I don’t think they’re really talking about you.”

She doesn’t answer.

I take a drag.

“I think they’re talking about themselves.

At least, that’s what I hear.”

Silence settles between us again.

Then I speak.

“It’s strange…

You never hear those words when someone is doing something that doesn’t really matter.”

She turns toward me.

“They always appear at the same moment.

The day something begins to matter.

A person.

A job.

An idea.

It doesn’t matter what.”

I let a few seconds pass.

“Maybe that’s why they suddenly become so loud.

As if fear sensed it was about to lose the last word.”

Hear those voices often enough, and eventually you start believing they’re your own.

So you hesitate.

You negotiate.

You wait a little longer.

As if the real danger were leaving.

When, deep down, what frightens us is what we’ll have to leave behind.

Our certainties.

The role we’ve been playing.

The belief that this life was supposed to be the right one.

Some lives never collapse.

They simply freeze.

We often imagine that the opposite of courage is fear.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s immobility.

She crushes the cigarette.

Dina stays silent.

Then she looks at me.

“So… do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

I look back at her.

“I think we’re all a little afraid.”

She says nothing.

“But I’m certain that, for you, fear doesn’t get the final say anymore.”

She rests her head on my shoulder.

Then, almost in a whisper:

“Then I’ll keep going.”

— Kevin