She stares at her hands, and he at the ceiling, their coffee growing cold in the silent icy gulf between.  Neither has said a word in a long time, both brimming with emotions.
 "So what's his name?" he asks, trying to conceal the bitterness in his voice.  He wants so much not to be angry, to be understanding, to be a friend, but it's still too soon and he knows things will never be the same between them.
 Her eyes are red and wet.  She wants to cry.  She wants to say "I'm sorry," a million times, and then a million more.  She never wanted it to be this way.  She never wanted to hurt him.  She never, ever wanted that.
 "Why?" she asks, fighting the tears and sobs, "What difference does it make?"  She wants to sound strong, but she doesn't quite succeed.  She gives up the pretense.  "His name is John.  I met him at work.  He...he's not like you at all, he..."  She doesn't finish.
 He winces at that.  She sniffs and looks out the window.  I has begun to snow.  Large fluffy flakes drift down.
 "So where does that leave us?" he asks finally.  He knows the answer but hopes it will be different.  He hope he is wrong.  He wants there to be a chance, and yet he knows that if there was, if they did resume their relationship, it wouldn't be the same.  He would always doubt her.  He would always know that even though they are together, it would be nothing short of a farce.  But he doesn't want to lose her.  He doesn't want to let her go.
 "I don't know," she says, but she does.  She knows it's over.
 "I want us to be friends," she says, and it is the truth, but not yet.  She is not ready yet to be with him.  There is too much pain, too much guilt, and too many memories.  'Why,' she wonders, 'does it always have to be like this?'
 "We need time," he says, "time to work it out in our own heads.  Think about it for a while and give me a call.  Let me know what you want."
 She nods her head, then turns away from the snowflakes to look at him.
 "And what do you want?" she asks.
 He looks down at his coffee cup, "I don't know," he says, but inside his mind screams 'I want you to love me!  I want you to forget Him!  I want you to never have met him!  I want things to be as they were!'  He knows it's wrong to think this way.  It's futile and counter-productive, but his emotions are ruling his reason.  Despair and anger battle in his mind, both equal in strength.  He regains control, momentarily.
 "Friends?" he asks.
 She nods, and a tear shakes loose and streams down her cheek.
 "Okay," he says.
 "I have to go," she says and she puts on her coat.
 She looks back before she leaves, and there is pain in her eyes, and regret.
 "I love you," she says, then turns to leave.
 "I love you too," he says, and she pauses for a second.  It seems so long.  And then she is gone.
 He stares at his coffee until his vision is blurred by tears.
 "I love you," he whispers, and it sounds so empty in the deserted diner.  Empty and cold.