Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—the universe has a way of teaching us the lessons we need to learn, even when we’re too stubborn to learn them the first time.

After breaking up with Zaira, I spent six months trying to convince myself I’d made the right decision. Six months of soul-searching, of going to raves and music festivals, of throwing myself into graduate school.

I dated around, meeting a few girls who were perfectly nice but nothing at all like Zaira. No one made me smile the way she did. No one challenged me the way she did. None of them were Zaira.

And slowly—painfully slowly—I began to realize what a colossal, idiotic mistake I’d made.

I’d pushed away the best thing that had happened to me since the divorce because I was too scared to believe it could last. I’d chosen loneliness over the risk of love. I’d let my past dictate my future.

And I’d been miserable ever since.

It took me six months to work up the courage to reach out.

Finally, a few weeks before Christmas, I sent her a simple message:

Zaira, I know I don’t deserve a response. But if you’re willing, I’d really like to see you. To talk. To explain. I made a terrible mistake. Is there any chance we can meet up?

The next day we met for lunch. Zaira walked in right at noon, looking beautiful in jeans and a simple black top. She saw me and paused for just a moment before walking over to the booth where I was sitting.

“Hi,” she said, sliding into the seat across from me.

“Hi. Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure you would.”

“I almost didn’t.”

I deserved that.

The server came by with two waters. We told him we needed more time, and then we were alone again. I took a deep breath and started talking.

“I was an idiot,” I began. “That’s the short version. The long version is… I was terrified. Of being hurt again. Of making the same mistakes. Of getting close to someone and then having it all fall apart like it did with my ex-wife.”

Zaira listened, her expression unreadable.

“When things were going so well with you,” I continued, “when I started falling in love with you, I panicked. I was afraid that we would end up rushing into marriage, and that scared me.”

“The truth is,” I said, my voice cracking slightly, “I’m still carrying so much pain from the divorce. And I took all of that pain and I let it destroy something beautiful with you.”

Tears were forming in my eyes now, and I didn’t try to hide them.

“You deserved so much better than a breakup email. I’m so, so sorry.”

Zaira’s expression softened slightly, but she didn’t speak yet.

“I know I hurt you,” I continued. “I know I broke your trust. And I know that might not be something you can forgive. But I’m asking anyway. I’m asking if there’s any chance—any chance at all—that you’d be willing to give me another shot. To let me prove that I can be the man you deserve.”

I reached across the table, my hand open, palm up.

She looked at my open hand for a long moment, then back up at my face.

“You really hurt me, Robert,” she said quietly.

“I know,” I said, tears in both of our eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m willing to try again,” she said. “But I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Next time you get scared, next time your demons start whispering that this won’t work, that I’m going to leave, that you need to protect yourself—I need you to talk to me. Tell me you’re scared. Don’t shut me out.”

“I promise,” I said, squeezing her hand. “I promise I’ll do better. I’ll be better.”

She smiled then—the first real smile I’d seen from her since she walked in.

“Okay then.”

We stayed at that gastropub for six hours. Talking, laughing, crying, processing everything that had happened over the past six months. The pain I’d been carrying. The work I’d been doing on myself. Her own fears about getting hurt again. What we both wanted from a relationship, from life, from the future.

When we finally left, the sun was setting and the restaurant was filling up with the dinner crowd. I walked her to her car, and before she got in her car, I pulled her into a hug.

“Thank you,” I whispered into her hair. “Thank you for giving me another chance.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” she said, but she was smiling.

“I won’t. I swear I won’t.”

And this time, I meant it.