A/N: I just realized it's been exactly three years to this day since I posted my first Pretty Little Liars fanfic. It's been a while since I've written, please forgive me, I'm quite rusty, but I wanted to give writing another shot. This is set in the future, post season five, episode one. I'm sorry if it spoils anything!
I wrote this on a whim in less than an hour. It's something different, something I'm not used to, but hopefully you all like it.
- J

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.

Ding!

The door to the coffee shop swiftly swings open and shuts, the reverberations emanating from the bell hanging over the door breaking your trance. You sneak a glance up, the first time you've looked away from your laptop in the last three hours, and you feel your breath hitch. Your fingers freeze over your keyboard as you see her.

Her. You haven't seen her in years, not since what happened in New York City, but that's not to say she hasn't been on your mind nearly every day since then.

You unabashedly stare at the woman who has just entered, studying her every movement. You follow her hand as she reaches under the strap of her bag, hitching it higher up her shoulder, then reaching in to pull out her wallet. You hear the click clack of the heels of her boots hitting the tiled floor, quickly making her way to the open register. You can almost smell the familiar vanilla scent of her shampoo as she throws her head back, her brown, softly curled hair swishing behind her, laughing at something the barista has just said. You smile to yourself, she's back.

Your mind races, thinking of ways to "accidentally" run into her. You could pretend to throw away your trash, there's a trash can conveniently next to her, but you don't actually have any trash to throw away. You could pretend you need more sugar for your coffee, never mind that you usually drink your coffee black, but the sugar is nowhere near her, it's actually closer to you. You could just wait until she passes by, and look up at the exact moment she passes by. But what if she never comes this way?

You stand up, convincing yourself that you need to take action and make a move before it's too late. All you have to do is walk over to the register and order another drink. No matter that the cup of coffee right next to your laptop is still fresh, and full- it's your only chance. You hear the bell ding once more, signaling the entrance of someone else. You see her raise her hand and call the stranger over, and you immediately lower yourself back into your seat.

You watch as the strange man makes his way to her, and she loops her arm through his as he leans down and gives her a kiss on the top of her head. She leans into him, and even from behind, you can see her grinning from ear to ear. You lost your chance.

You brace yourself. No, it's not over. You determinedly stand up once more and make your way to the register, pulling your wallet out of your back pocket. You walk quickly, as her and the mystery man are beginning to leave. She's looking down, and you take it as your chance to slowly take one step to your right, just bumping into her.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she apologizes profusely, looking up at you, flashing you a bright, wide smile. You notice the guy with her tightens his grip on her shoulders ever just a little bit tighter. You return her smile full of hope, glad your plan worked.

But then you study the girl standing in front of you, and your face falls a little. This girl isn't her. Not even close. This girl's smile is nowhere near as captivating as hers. This girl's eyes aren't as expressive as hers. This girl's hair isn't nearly as beautiful as hers. This girl just isn't her.

You mumble an apology as the guy she's with glares at you, leading her away. You watch as she wraps her arm around his waist, drawing him in closer, desperately wishing it was you and her instead of that girl and that guy. Without much of a choice, you walk up to the barista at the register and order a croissant. At least you don't have to get another coffee.

Croissant in hand, you made your way back to your table, dropping your wallet onto your laptop and slumping down in your seat, feeling dejected. Picking up your wallet again, you fish through it, pulling out a folded piece of paper.

Unfolding the note, you can't help but notice just how weathered it's beginning to look, years spent being folded and unfolded, read over and over again. Your eyes drift over the small piece of paper, her flowing writing filling the page.

Ezra,
I can't do this anymore. I don't know if I can trust you. I have to leave.
I just needed to make sure that you would survive this, that you would pull through, and now I that I know you will, I think it's time I go.
Please, don't try looking for me. I don't think either one of us can handle it.
Forgive me.
- Aria

You remember the feeling after waking up from the surgery that removed the bullet from your lower abdomen. You're in a cold, empty room, the only sound you can hear is the beeping from the machine monitoring your heartbeat. You weakly call her name, but she's nowhere to be found. There's no one. Your eyes drift over to the bedside table, where you see a note with your name on it. Despite the pain, you reach over and pick it up, reading it repeatedly for hours, not quite understanding what the words she wrote meant. It couldn't be true, she couldn't be gone.

You shake your head, returning back to the present. Carefully, you fold the paper back up and tuck it back into its safe place in your wallet, the only thing you really have left of her. Sighing, you shove it back into your back pocket and, taking a sip of your now cold coffee, you begin to type again.

Maybe one day, you'll find her. You hope you'll find her. Until then, you finish working on your novel, hoping that the words you're typing right at this moment will find their way to her. Hopeful that one day, these words will being her back to you.