Beatrice Fairbanks stood at the edge of the bustling street, the chilly New York wind biting at her cheeks as the sun began to set. The city was alive with energy, people rushing past her, but she felt frozen in place. She was always on the move, always going somewhere—yet lately, it felt like she was getting nowhere.

Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket, but she ignored it, staring out at the skyline instead. She had been doing a lot of that lately—ignoring the things that demanded her attention. People, calls, responsibilities. It wasn't like her, but ever since she'd met Conrad, her world had slowly started unraveling.

The lyrics of Taylor Swift's "coney island" drifted through her mind like a haunting echo: "Did I close my fist around something delicate? Did I shatter you?" She had been asking herself that question for days now, ever since things between her and Conrad had started to fall apart. She thought they had something real, something solid, but the cracks were beginning to show, and Beatrice wasn't sure if she had been the one to break it or if it had been broken all along.

A voice broke her thoughts. "Bea?"

She turned to see Conrad standing a few feet away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his eyes wide with that familiar look of concern. His hair was windswept, his coat buttoned up tightly against the cold. He had a way of looking both put together and disheveled at the same time—a charm that had pulled her in from the very beginning.

"Conrad," Beatrice said, her voice quiet. "What are you doing here?"

He gave her a small, sheepish smile as he stepped closer. "I was looking for you. You weren't at the gallery."

Beatrice sighed, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck. "I needed some air. Some space."

Conrad's smile faltered, and he glanced down at the ground. "Space from me?"

She didn't answer immediately, unsure of how to explain the growing distance between them without making it sound like an accusation. It wasn't just about Conrad. It was about everything—their relationship, her life, the suffocating feeling that she was losing control of all of it.

"Maybe," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Conrad looked up at her, his expression a mix of hurt and confusion. "Bea, if I've done something—"

Beatrice shook her head quickly, cutting him off. "No, it's not you. Or maybe it is. I don't know." She rubbed her temples, feeling the tension in her shoulders grow. "Everything just feels... wrong. Like I'm drifting and I can't find my way back."

Conrad stepped closer, his voice soft but firm. "Then let me help. You don't have to figure this out on your own."

She laughed bitterly, though there was no humor in it. "Help? How can you help, Conrad? You're part of the problem."

His face fell, and Beatrice immediately regretted her words. That wasn't fair to him. Conrad wasn't a bad person—he hadn't done anything cruel or intentional. But he had become another piece of the puzzle she couldn't seem to put together, another layer of confusion she didn't know how to unravel.

"Conrad, I'm sorry," she said, her voice softer now. "I didn't mean that. I just... I feel like I've lost myself. And I don't know if I can be what you need me to be."

Conrad stood there, silent for a long moment, his eyes searching hers as if he was trying to find something—some way to fix this. "Bea, I don't need you to be anything other than yourself."

Beatrice let out a shaky breath, her heart aching. "I don't even know who that is anymore."


They ended up sitting on a bench in Central Park, the winter air crisp around them as the early evening settled in. The city lights glowed softly through the bare trees, and for a moment, everything was still. Conrad leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, while Beatrice sat beside him, staring straight ahead.

"I miss us," Conrad said quietly, breaking the silence. "I miss when we were... easy."

Beatrice's heart squeezed at his words, the familiar sting of nostalgia settling in her chest. She missed it too—the easy laughter, the shared meals, the way being with him had felt like a breath of fresh air in her often chaotic life. But that was before everything started to feel heavy, before the weight of expectations and the uncertainty of their future started to creep in.

"So do I," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it doesn't feel easy anymore."

Conrad turned to look at her, his eyes filled with sadness. "What happened to us, Bea? How did we get here?"

She swallowed hard, feeling the lump in her throat grow. "I don't know. Maybe we were just pretending everything was fine when it wasn't. Or maybe we wanted different things all along, and we didn't see it until now."

Conrad's jaw clenched, and he looked away, his gaze fixed on a distant point in the park. "I thought we wanted the same things."

Beatrice felt a tear slip down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. "So did I."

The lyrics from "coney island" echoed in her mind again: "Did I close my fist around something delicate? Did I leave you out to dry?" She wondered if she had been holding on too tightly, trying to make something work that was never meant to. Or maybe she had been holding back, too afraid to fully give herself to him because she knew, deep down, that it wouldn't last.

"Conrad," she said softly, her voice trembling, "I love you. But I think we're at a crossroads. And I don't know if we can find our way back."

Conrad's shoulders slumped, and for a moment, he didn't speak. When he finally did, his voice was quiet, broken. "So what are you saying? That we just give up?"

Beatrice shook her head, tears filling her eyes. "No, I'm not saying that. I'm saying that maybe we need to figure out what we really want—who we really are—before we can move forward."

Conrad looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and heartbreak. "I know who I am, Bea. I know what I want. I want you. I want us."

She closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. "I wish it were that simple."


The following days were a blur of silence and reflection. Beatrice found herself walking through the city alone, retracing steps she had taken with Conrad, feeling the weight of their memories pressing down on her. The city, which had once felt like her playground, now felt like a maze she couldn't navigate.

One evening, she found herself back at the gallery where she and Conrad had first met. The soft lighting, the quiet hum of people appreciating the art—it all felt like a distant memory of a time when everything had been new and exciting. She wandered through the gallery, her thoughts drifting to that first conversation, the way Conrad had made her laugh, the spark that had ignited between them.

But now, as she stood in front of a painting she had once loved, all she felt was emptiness.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out, surprised to see a message from Conrad.

Conrad: "I'm outside. Can we talk?"

Beatrice's heart raced as she made her way to the exit, her mind spinning with a thousand thoughts. When she stepped outside, she saw him standing on the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

She walked up to him, her voice shaky. "Conrad."

He looked at her, his eyes filled with an emotion she couldn't quite place. "Bea, I've been thinking. About what you said."

Beatrice held her breath, waiting for him to continue.

"I don't want to lose you," he said quietly. "But I also don't want to keep pretending that everything's fine when it's not. I think... I think maybe you're right. Maybe we need some space to figure things out."

Her heart ached at his words, but she knew he was right. They couldn't keep going in circles, hoping things would magically fix themselves.

"I don't want to lose you either," she whispered. "But I think we've lost ourselves in trying to make this work."

Conrad nodded, his gaze dropping to the ground. "Maybe we'll find our way back to each other. Or maybe... maybe this is the end."

Beatrice swallowed the lump in her throat, her voice barely audible. "Maybe."

They stood in silence for a long moment, the city bustling around them, but in that moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. Finally, Conrad stepped forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

"Goodbye, Bea," he whispered.

She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall. "Goodbye, Conrad."

And with that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd. Beatrice stood there, her heart heavy, but for the first time in weeks, she felt a strange sense of peace.

The lyrics from "coney island" echoed in her mind once more: "We were like the mall before the internet, it was the one place to be." She and Conrad had been something special, something beautiful. But now, it was time to let go. Time to find herself again.

And maybe, just maybe, she would find happiness along the way.