An argument

She is shouting at him. He is shouting at her.

They halt on your arrival, and stare - they did not see you approach. It seems that it is true: you cannot observe the action without affecting it. I forget whether it is Heisenberg or Schrödinger I should thank for this trick.

Never mind; as the author, I can lead you behind a veil and allow the couple to continue. They will forget we were here.

"You always tell me what to do!" she says, irritation showing in her voice. Her shoulders tensed, face obscured by her hair, looking at the ground. "And whenever I do things my way, you act like I'm a huge disappointment! Why can't you just let me make my own decisions?"

He isn't looking at her either. "I don't know why you feel like that. Try to see things from my perspective: every time I get a little bit of hope, and stop pushing you, you give up again."

She reaches across the table and puts her hand on his. "But I am getting better. Trust me."

Why should you care about them, if you know nothing about them? Allow me. I am the woman - or, at least, she is me. Me as I see me. And how far that is from Anna the Writer, I am least qualified to say.

Here, a lot is unsaid. They know the history, and you don't. Allow me. The woman has struggled with depression. She is teaching herself how to be brave again. The night of this conversation, she bailed on a commitment - a failure that she saw as making a free choice, and he saw as a relapse. The cursor is blinking at me. I didn't plan beyond this part. So, because I can, I think I shall bring resolution.

“I’ll try to get better. I am trying. I love you.” This time he takes her hand. She looks up, and their eyes finally meet.

They drop the subject, shelve it for next time they need something to resent, and sleep. You can go now.