"Four years! You just want to throw away four years" Katara yelled. "I can't forget four years overnight! I can't turn the clock back. I can't undo the words we said. I can't undo our hugs and kisses. I can't forget the days and nights worrying over you. I can't." She was pacing madly back and forth on a beige carpet with her foo steps quickly becoming foot prints. "I don't understand." She breathed. "I thought this was what you wanted. Me and you. You and me," she stared pleadingly at him. Her eyes read don't do this. "I can't just let go. It's too deep…" she wept clawing at her chest and sinking to the ground. Katara had run out of words signaling the release of her pooled tears. Perhaps it was because she was a water bender but the tears streaming down her face resembled waterfalls in their ferocity and were quickly filling the canyon between them.
Aang's instinct was to hug her, console her, comfort her, bring a warm blanket to wrap around her, but he resisted. He couldn't be wishy-washy or vague because then it would only hurt more. He'd thought long and hard, spent many hours of training and meditation in deep contemplation. He'd practiced this moment many times, but it was harder than he imagined. He couldn't yell back at her, no matter what insults she hurled at him. She is too kind to be mean to me, even at a moment like this he lamented. It would have be so much easier then.
He gently shifted into a seat cushion like a mother duck lowering herself onto her eggs. His shoulders slumped forward as he leaned his head on his hands. He glanced around avoiding Katara's intense glare. Perhaps one day she could forgive him. All the curtains were closed blocking out the sun's light. The room felt cold and damp like a jail cell. The white walls looked grey and menacing. Aang felt the room closing in on him and the stiff water-logged air was suffocating him. Just yesterday the room had been warm and inviting engulfed in the glow of the sunset. Why was he tarnishing a beautiful thing? The longer this went on, the more tempted he would be to back out. He recalled the words of the last water-bender avatar. "Be decisive."
Aang tensed his muscles and got up again. His legs prickled from numbness. "Katara." He choked on her name. I love you. "Since the day I met you, you have raptured me." Aang needed to pause afraid his voice might crack. All Katara needed to know was what he told her – not what he really felt inside. Aang was afraid his mask was cracking and that Katara was beginning to see through his charade, that he really didn't want to separate; that he really did want to be with her forever. But Aang couldn't do that to her. Somewhere deep inside, Aang always knew that they wouldn't make it, they weren't meant for each other. Aang just never had the courage to admit it. He had needed Katara to get through his journey, to accept the loss of his people, to accept his role as the avatar, to defeat Ozai. He had needed her through all of it. He needed her for the last four years as he took on the sorrows of the world's people, trying to help them recover from the 100 year war with the fire nation. Aang had been selfish, relying on Katara so much; but he didn't regret it. He loved every moment with her. Aang was scared of how much he loved her.
Aang looked Katara in the eye and she could sense his determination. "Since the day I met you, you have raptured me. And these last five years have been the time of my life. I wouldn't give back one moment," he said with true sincerity. "But I feel we aren't right for each other anymore. I think," he turned and picked up a picture from a side table, "I think we have been slowly growing apart," he said steadily while tracing the frame. "I think we both deserve the opportunity to meet other people and confirm that this is what we really want for the rest of our lives." Aang's mind blanked. Katara's silence frustrated him. She was much better at reading him than he was reading her.
"That is what you think?" she said indignantly. "But what do you feel?" she knowingly inquired; "because what I know is that we have been together happily for four years and now all of sudden you think it can't work between us. That's not fair! You can't just decide that on your own." Her hair hung loosely framing her face. Only Aang had ever seen her hair completely liberated. Her dark brown mane freely cascaded down her back. It was morning and she had not had time to braid it yet.
Aang took a deep breath working up his courage. "I am not saying it couldn't work between us. I'm sure we could always find a way to make a work. What I am saying is that I don't think it is best for us. I think we are comfortable with each other, but not happy."
"But what do you feel?" she repeated loudly.
"I feel that maybe we decided too young and that I was a scared child desperate for a family so I clung to you. But now, I have the whole world greeting me, and I am not scared or alone, and I can say with confidence that I feel this is best for both of us." Aang's fingers trembled at the last words and the frame slipped from his hands, but it didn't shatter. He bent down nervously to pick it up but somehow all the strength had slipped from his hands and he couldn't even curl his fingers around it. I'm scared of how much I love her. Aang became angry with himself. This was supposed to be quick and painless – not slow and painful! He fed off his anger. He snapped back up straight. "I need this Katara," he said firmly, and stalked to the bedroom to pack his things.
He glanced back afraid he might have hurt her. Her face was turned away and her hair covered her eyes. It was her lack of protest, her wordlessness, which hurt him. He knew, Aang knew, they weren't really meant for each other. Sooner or later they would fall apart anyway. It was better this way.
The sound of his thoughts were so loud he didn't hear the picture glass shatter or the cushion fabric tear or the table leg splinter or Katara's spirit break.
