Chapter Two: The Ex-Factor

(POV – James)

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who get worked up over the smallest setbacks, and those who just go with the flow.

I like to think I fall into the second group.

So, when I received a call this morning notifying me that my apartment was being temporarily switched, my response was simple:

“Sure, why not?”

The leasing agent seemed almost… relieved. Probably because they had just finished their conversation with Clarice.

I can’t help but smirk. It’s been ages since I last saw my ex, but I’d wager she’s currently in a heated discussion with someone on the other end of that line.

Still, I’m not entirely inconsiderate—I did ask who I’d be swapping with before I agreed. And when I heard the name, I did precisely what any reasonable person would do.

I chuckled.

Because of course, this would happen to us.

Clarice and I had been polar opposites from our very first meeting—her with meticulously organized calendars, and me with my chaotic sketchbooks. Yet, despite our differences, we managed to make it work. For a while.

Then one day, we just… didn’t.

I rake my hand through my hair, letting out a slow breath.

A month in her space.

I can manage that.

Right?

I remind myself it’s no big deal.

That stepping into Clarice’s apartment won’t really affect me. That it’s just a temporary situation, a little mix-up I’ll look back on and chuckle about later.

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t reflecting on our last encounter.

The last argument we had.

The moment I realized I was losing her—and that there was nothing I could do to change that.

Flashback: Three Years Ago

I used to think love was supposed to come naturally.

That when you find the right person, everything simply… falls into place.

And for a time with Clarice, that’s exactly how it felt.

She was organized, driven, and always a step ahead of me—and I truly adored that about her. I loved how she meticulously prepared our outings, ensuring every detail was perfect. I appreciated how she made lists for everything, including what snacks we’d need for movie nights. How she left little notes on my coffee table, reminding me of deadlines I would likely forget otherwise.

I thought she enjoyed my spontaneity. That I could encourage her to loosen up a little, to take a break from planning and simply enjoy the moment.

But the issues began to unfold once we decided to live together.

That particular night is ingrained in my memory—the night everything came to a boiling point.

We were sprawled out on the couch, her laptop open, papers and schedules strewn across the coffee table. She was explaining 401(k) plans and long-term financial security—topics I knew were important, yet felt so distant from my aspirations.

And then, like a fool, I blurted out the idea of moving to Italy together.

I hadn’t meant to say it. The thought just… slipped out.

She barely glanced up. “Sure.”

“I’m being serious,” I insisted, placing my sketchbook aside. “A year, maybe two. I could tackle some design projects in Europe, and you could freelance. We could indulge in pasta, sip wine, explore—”

“James.” She sighed, still focused on her typing. “That’s not how things work. You can’t just abandon everything and move to Italy.”

I frowned. “Why not?”

Finally, she looked up at me, as if I were a child needing a lesson in basic math. “Because people have dreams. And careers. And responsibilities.”

“You can work from anywhere. You can, if it truly matters to you.”

She scoffed. “That’s not the main issue here.”

I felt a knot form in my stomach. “It’s just a suggestion, Rice. We used to talk about being spontaneous.”

“Yeah, back when I was twenty-one and still figuring my life out,” she shot back.

I stared at her, sensing a shift in the tension between us.

“I didn’t realize you felt that way about us,” I said softly.

She sighed, massaging her temples. “We’re just… different,” she said. “You want a fairytale. I crave stability.”

“And you don’t think I can provide that?” I asked, knowing my question would just hang in the air, unanswered.

~ Present Day

I let out a breath and check my phone, scrolling through my inbox.

I should really reach out to Clarice. Just be polite. A simple, Hey, seems like we got ourselves into this mix-up. Hope your place is still as tidy as I remember.

But I pause.

Because the truth is, we haven’t spoken since we ended things.

Not once.

No Happy Birthday wishes. No “Hope all is well” texts. Not even a casual social media like. Nothing at all.

And now, thanks to this unforeseen mix-up, we’re about to intrude on each other’s lives in a way that feels… oddly personal.

I can’t help but wonder—what has her life become?

Did she finally land that promotion she was working so hard for? Did she ever start traveling like she always dreamed of?

Is there someone new in her life now?

That thought alone sends a wave of unease through me, and I quickly push it down.

It’s irrelevant. It’s none of my concern.

This is just a month. A month of sharing spaces while she occupies mine.

And if I happen to rummage through her kitchen drawers to see if she still keeps her spices organized, or if I check her bookshelf to see if she still arranges her books by color…

Well. That’s just natural curiosity,

right?