The apartment felt smaller every day. You could feel the weight of it pressing in on you, the air thick with things left unsaid. The space between you and Chris had been growing for weeks now, inch by inch, until it was all you could feel anymore. The silence was louder than anything—louder than the soft hum of the refrigerator, louder than the distant sounds of traffic outside.
You sat across from him on the couch, the space between you nearly suffocating. Chris wasn’t looking at you, not really. His eyes were focused on the blank TV screen in front of him, his thumb absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, but you could tell his mind wasn’t on anything in the room. It hadn’t been for a long time.
“Chris,” you said softly, testing the waters, but your voice felt too quiet, too hesitant. You didn’t know if you were afraid of the words that might come next or if you were afraid of the silence that would follow.
He didn’t answer immediately, but you could feel him tense, the way his shoulders tightened at the sound of your voice. You weren’t sure if that was a good sign or not, but it felt like the first crack, the first hint of something slipping. But you didn’t know what it was anymore, or even what you wanted it to be.
You leaned forward slightly, the urge to close the gap between you too strong to ignore. “We need to talk.”
His eyes flicked toward you, the briefest of glances, before he returned to whatever was on his screen. He let out a small sigh. “About what?”
You bit your lip, trying to suppress the frustration bubbling inside you. It wasn’t the first time you’d tried to reach him, to bridge the distance that had been growing between you both. But each time, the gap only widened, no matter how hard you tried to reach out.
“You’ve been distant,” you said, your voice more fragile than you wanted it to be. “For weeks now. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but it feels like you’re… slipping away.” The words hung in the air between you, and you could see him stiffen. He didn’t like that. He never liked when you pushed, but you couldn’t stop yourself.
He shrugged, his eyes still focused on his phone. “It’s nothing.”
“Don’t do that.” The words were out before you could stop them, sharper than you intended. “Don’t pretend like it’s nothing, Chris. Don’t shut me out.”
He didn’t flinch at the tone of your voice, but you saw the slight tightening of his jaw, the muscles working under his skin as if he was trying to hold everything inside. Trying to keep the storm contained.
“It’s not that simple,” he muttered, finally putting the phone down beside him, but he still wouldn’t look at you.
You felt the pit in your stomach deepen. He was pulling away again, and you didn’t know how much longer you could let him do it before it broke you entirely.
“You’re not making it simple, Chris. I’ve been here for months, trying to understand you. Trying to figure out what’s going on, but you won’t let me in.” Your voice cracked as you said it. It was harder than you thought it would be. You had tried so hard to be patient, to be the person he could rely on when the weight of everything seemed too much for him to carry alone.
He was silent for a long time, and it was worse than any argument. It was the way he didn’t respond. The way he didn’t even seem to care anymore.
“I’m not… I’m not good for you,” he said, the words barely audible, but they hit you like a slap in the face.
Your heart stuttered in your chest. You weren’t sure if you were hearing him right. You’d been waiting for something like this, expecting it, but you still couldn’t quite believe it.
“What the hell are you talking about?” You wanted to laugh, to let out the frustration in a burst of something, anything, but all you could do was sit there, blinking back tears that threatened to spill over. “Of course, you’re good for me. What, you think I’ve been wasting my time with someone who’s not good for me? Do you even hear yourself right now?”
He finally looked at you, but there was nothing there. No warmth. No emotion. Just a kind of emptiness that made you shiver. His eyes, once full of that light you’d come to rely on, were flat, distant, as though he had already shut you out.
“I don’t know how to be the person you want me to be,” he said, almost as if he were confessing something. “I’m trying, but I just… I can’t do it. Not for you. Not for anyone.”
Your breath caught in your throat. “I never asked you to be anyone but yourself.”
He stood up, and for a moment, the silence grew thick again. His hands were trembling slightly, and for a brief, terrifying second, you thought he might walk away. Maybe that was what he wanted. Maybe that was what he needed—just to leave everything behind. But instead, he turned his back to you. The distance between you wasn’t just physical anymore. It felt like an entire lifetime of unresolved fears and regrets had been built between the two of you, brick by brick.
“You don’t deserve this,” he said, his voice cracking at the edges. He didn’t turn around, but you could feel the weight of his words. “I’m not good for you. I’m not…” He paused, his shoulders sagging, and you could see how broken he really was. But it wasn’t enough to stop him. Not yet.
“Chris,” you whispered, standing up, your hands trembling as you reached for him, but he stepped back, like the very touch of you was something he couldn’t bear. “Please, don’t do this. You’re not broken. You don’t have to—”
“You don’t get it,” he cut you off, his voice raw now, as if the words had been clawing at his throat. “I keep pushing you away because I can’t let you love me. I don’t know how to be loved. I don’t know how to let you in without… without destroying everything.”
You took a shaky step toward him, your hands desperate now, but he moved back again, shaking his head like he was fighting against something inside himself.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice so small, it almost broke you. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t be what you need.”
And just like that, the final piece of the wall between you both fell. You were left standing in the middle of the room, watching him back away, and all you could do was watch him walk toward the door, your heart splintering into pieces. He didn’t look back. And just like that, you realised that nothing you said could ever make him stay.
The door closed with a soft click, and the silence that followed was more deafening than anything that had come before. You stood in the middle of the room, staring at the space where he had just been, where he had just walked away from you. From us.
You couldn’t breathe. Every breath felt like a laborious act, every inhale burning your lungs with the sharp sting of something that had broken but not yet fallen apart. You knew, deep down, that you were no longer in control of this. Whatever was happening between you and Chris wasn’t something you could fix anymore. You had tried. You had tried so damn hard. But you couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t.
The walls of the apartment felt like they were closing in on you, the weight of the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. You wanted to scream, to cry, to do something to release the pressure building inside your chest, but all you could do was stand there.
Your phone buzzed on the counter, the sharp sound slicing through the quiet. You glanced over at it. It was a message from him. Chris. You hesitated before you picked it up, your fingers trembling as you unlocked the screen. The message was short.
I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.
You stared at the words for a long time, the suffocating sense of finality gnawing at you. The pain of those words wasn’t that they came from him—it was the hopelessness behind them. The way they seemed to say that he believed he was beyond saving, that you would never be able to forgive him. That you would never want to.
You ran your fingers over the screen, your heart pounding in your chest. You wanted to respond, to make him understand that this wasn’t something you could just walk away from, that you needed him, but you couldn’t find the words. There was no answer that would undo the damage, no response that would make him walk back through that door.
You dropped the phone onto the counter with a shaking hand, the feeling of it slipping from your grasp symbolising everything else that had slipped away in the past few months. You didn’t know how long you stood there, motionless, the world outside continuing as if nothing had changed. But inside, everything had.
The apartment was cold. The space where he used to be—where his laughter used to fill the room, where you had spent countless nights curled up together—was now an empty reminder of the distance that had crept between you. You felt it more now than ever before: the space that had once been filled with connection, with love, was now hollow.
Your mind kept replaying his words, his refusal to let you in. I’m not good for you.
You knew, deep down, that he didn’t believe that. Not really. But it didn’t matter. He’d convinced himself of it, and that was enough.
You walked to the window, staring out into the night, trying to steady your breathing, trying to convince yourself that it would all be okay, that time would heal everything. But the truth settled heavy on your chest, and you realised it wasn’t the time that would fix this.
But what if he couldn’t be fixed? What if, in the end, he was right? What if he wasn’t meant to be loved? What if you weren’t enough to save him, no matter how much you cared? The thought tore at you, but you pushed it away. You refused to let that be the answer.
You grabbed your jacket from the chair, the cold fabric slipping through your fingers as you pulled it on. You didn’t know what you were doing, or where you were going. You just knew you couldn’t sit in the silence anymore. Not now. Not when every second without him felt like an eternity of self-doubt and regret. You needed to see him. You needed to talk to him. To make him understand that you didn’t want to fix him. You just wanted to love him.
The streets were quiet, the city lights casting long shadows as you walked aimlessly, your feet taking you wherever they could find solace. Every corner you turned felt like it led you farther from something you could never get back. But the moment you saw his car parked on the side of the road, your heart jumped in your chest. You knew he was inside. You knew he hadn’t gone far.
You hesitated for a moment, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. You didn’t want to be the one to chase him. You didn’t want to feel like you were begging him to let you in when he had already made it clear he didn’t want you there.
But what else could you do? You couldn’t just let him walk away.
Your hand trembled as you knocked on the window of the car. It took him a moment to look up, his eyes still hollow with exhaustion, but when he saw you standing there, his face softened for a fraction of a second before it hardened again, the walls coming up between you both once more.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and guarded.
“I couldn’t just let you go,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of frustration and desperation. “Chris, I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when it’s not. I can’t pretend that I’m okay with losing you.”
He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as if you were asking for something impossible. “You should be. You should be okay with it. I’m not what you need. I’ll just end up hurting you, like I always do.”
“You’re not the only one hurting here, Chris,” you said softly, your voice breaking under the weight of everything you couldn’t say. “I’m hurting too. But I can’t just walk away. Not when I love you.”
The words felt like they left your chest in a rush, as though they had been trapped inside for far too long. But even as they left your lips, you felt the heavy weight of doubt sink into your bones. Would he believe you? Could he even hear you through all the walls he had built around himself? He closed his eyes, his head resting against the headrest of the seat as he let out a long sigh, the weight of everything between you pulling him down.
“I can’t do this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes finally meeting yours with a look so broken it made you ache. “I can’t be the person you need. Not when I can barely hold myself together. I don’t know how to be what you want me to be.”
The tears you had been holding back finally spilled over, and you took a step back, feeling the sting of everything crashing down on you.
“I don’t need you to be anything,” you whispered. “I just need you to stay.”
But the door stayed closed. And you were left standing in the street, feeling the cold seeping into your bones, as he pulled further away from you—just like he had so many times before.
The city felt colder now, the air biting at your skin as you stood frozen in place, the weight of his words lingering, suffocating. You stared at his car, the one place that felt like home just hours ago, now the one thing keeping you apart from everything you still wanted to believe in.
You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the beat erratic and harsh, as though it was trying to remind you that you were still alive, still breathing, even when everything around you felt like it was crumbling into nothing.
You took a step back from the car, the feeling of the pavement under your shoes grounding you for a moment. But even as you stood there, trying to pull yourself together, it felt like your insides were unraveling with every passing second.
The truth was, you weren’t sure if you could keep fighting for something that was slipping further away. But you couldn’t help yourself. You couldn’t walk away without knowing that you’d given it everything you had.
You didn’t look back when you turned and started walking down the street. Your feet felt heavy with the weight of the unspoken words between you and Chris, but you couldn’t stay there. You couldn’t keep standing in front of him, hoping he would let you in when he had already made it clear he didn’t want you there. Still, a part of you hoped—hoped that something inside him would snap, that he would see you standing there and remember the love you had shared, the one that still lingered in the corners of your heart.
But the further you walked, the more the doubts crept in. The cold air seemed to match the freezing distance between you both. It was as though the universe had conspired to keep you apart, to remind you that no matter how hard you tried, some things were just too broken to fix.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You hesitated for a moment before pulling it out, your hands shaking as you unlocked the screen.
Chris: I can’t do this to you. I don’t deserve you. Please don’t hate me.
Your breath caught in your throat. The message was more of the same—more of his self-doubt, more of the words that were destroying you both. You wanted to scream. To shout at him that you didn’t hate him, that you could never hate him. That you loved him in a way that went deeper than anything he could understand. But what good would it do?
The silence between you two was deafening. It was like the longer you stood there, the more the world around you seemed to blur into a backdrop of white noise. You thought about going back. You thought about knocking on his door, asking him to listen to you one more time, to finally hear what you had to say. But you knew it wouldn’t change anything.
He had already decided. And maybe you had, too.
The thought struck you like a cold slap to the face—maybe you weren’t enough. Maybe he was right. Maybe you had tried, too hard, for too long, and now it was too late. Maybe there wasn’t anything you could do to make him see that you loved him, flaws and all. Maybe he would never believe it.
The tears you had been holding back spilled over, each drop like a shard of glass in your chest. You wiped them away quickly, as though the act of doing so could stop the flood, but it didn’t. It only made it worse.
You stumbled into a nearby café, trying to find some semblance of warmth, of something that could pull you back from the edge. You ordered a coffee, your hands shaking as you paid for it, trying to compose yourself in the moment. But nothing felt right.
There was a quiet hum of chatter around you, the kind of noise that you used to find comforting. Now, it was just another reminder that the world kept moving, while you were stuck in this horrible, aching place. Your phone buzzed again. This time, you didn’t have to look to know who it was. You could feel his presence through the screen, the words that he was too afraid to say in person.
Chris: I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. It’s just who I am.
You read the message over and over, the words cutting deeper each time. The guilt he carried—the guilt that had been pushing him away for so long—was taking over him entirely. And you were powerless to stop it.
The barista at the counter called out your name, breaking you from your thoughts, but you didn’t respond immediately. You stared at the message, feeling as though you were suffocating. How many times could you hear the same thing before you believed it? Before you started to think maybe he was right, that you were just waiting for something that would never come? You stood up slowly, walking to the counter and taking the coffee from the barista without saying a word. You didn’t know what you were doing anymore. You didn’t know what you were supposed to feel.
But you did know that nothing would ever be the same.
You stepped outside and found yourself standing on the same cold street, your breath clouding in front of you. The city seemed louder now, its noise filling the empty spaces where Chris’s voice used to be. The thought that he was still out there, somewhere, probably still sitting in his car or back at his apartment—still trying to convince himself that he didn’t deserve you—was more than you could bear.
You texted him one more time, your fingers trembling as you typed the words.
Please. I’m not asking you to change. I’m asking you to stay.
You stared at the screen for a long time, waiting for the familiar response that you thought would come immediately. But it didn’t. Minutes passed. And still, there was no reply. The reality hit you like a punch to the gut. Maybe this was it.
Maybe the love you had for him wasn’t enough to fix him. Maybe the person he thought he was would always be a wall between you both. Maybe you were never meant to be the one who saved him.
You couldn’t wait forever. You couldn’t keep doing this to yourself, keep pouring everything you had into someone who couldn’t see it. But as you stood on that street, staring at your phone with your chest tight, you realised one painful truth: You weren’t ready to let go. You couldn’t let go. And that was the hardest thing of all.
Days since you last saw him, since you last heard his voice, since you last stood face to face with Chris and felt like everything between you was still real, still salvageable. Days of endless silence, punctuated only by the cold, unfeeling texts that seemed to make everything worse.
You sat on the couch again, the very spot where you had once sat with him, where his laughter and warmth had filled the room. Now, it felt empty. Hollow. And it was that emptiness that gnawed at you most—the constant reminder that no matter how much you wanted to bridge the distance, no matter how much you longed for things to go back to what they were, you were just as far apart as you had been before. But you refused to give up. Not yet.
The message he had sent a few nights ago still burned in your mind: I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. It’s just who I am.
It wasn’t just the words that haunted you—it was the tone. The way he had resigned himself to this fate, as though there was no escaping it. He truly believed that he was a burden, that the damage he carried would tear you apart, even if you didn’t see it. He had convinced himself that his love for you wasn’t enough, that nothing could ever be enough to bridge the gap in his heart. And yet, here you were, still sitting here, still waiting. Still trying.
A knock on the door broke your train of thought. You froze, heart skipping a beat as you glanced toward it, wondering if you had imagined it. Maybe your mind was playing tricks on you. Another knock, this time louder. You stood, hesitating for only a moment before you crossed the room, your heart racing in your chest. You swung the door open.
Chris stood in the doorway, his eyes swollen from lack of sleep, his hair messy like he hadn’t bothered to run a hand through it in days. But it was the look on his face that stopped you in your tracks—raw, vulnerable, and more broken than you’d ever seen him.
He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice faltered, like he wasn’t sure if he was even worthy of being here. The words didn’t come immediately, and for a moment, you both just stood there in silence, caught in the gravity of the moment.
“I don’t know what to say,” Chris said quietly, finally managing to find his voice, though it was thick with emotion. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Your heart clenched at the sound of his voice, and without thinking, you reached for him. You didn’t care that you had no idea how this would turn out. You didn’t care that he had pushed you away over and over again. You just knew that you needed him, and that was enough.
You pulled him into an embrace, feeling the weight of everything between you both crash down in that one instant. His arms hesitated around you at first, like he wasn’t sure if he could touch you, but slowly, he tightened his grip, as if afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, his voice muffled against your hair. “I hurt you. I pushed you away. I thought it was the right thing to do, but it wasn’t. I was just afraid… afraid of ruining everything.”
You held him tighter, the fear that had been simmering inside you now bubbling to the surface. “Chris, don’t you see? You already ruined everything the moment you shut me out. You pushed me away, and now I’m standing here, holding on to nothing but a memory of what we used to be. But it doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to do this alone.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. His hands cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, like he couldn’t quite believe you were standing there, that you were still here.
“You don’t understand,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I’ve been running from everything I feel. From you. From this. I was so scared that I would ruin us, that I would hurt you so much that you’d hate me. I’ve convinced myself that I don’t deserve you. That I couldn’t be the person you wanted me to be, that no matter what I did, I would destroy this.”
The words hit you like a punch to the chest. He had spent all this time, these last weeks, fighting himself, fighting the love you shared because he believed he wasn’t worthy. And yet, here he was, standing in front of you, vulnerable and shaking, like he was letting you see him for the first time.
“You don’t have to be anyone other than yourself,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you wanted to say. “I don’t need you to be perfect, Chris. I just need you to be here—with me. I love you. I need you.”
His face crumpled at your words, and before you could fully understand what was happening, his lips were on yours. It was soft at first—tentative, like he was afraid to make the wrong move—but it quickly deepened, a desperate need in every touch. Every kiss seemed to say the words that neither of you had been able to say before.
He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his forehead resting against yours. “I don’t know how to be what you need,” he admitted quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’m willing to try.”
You closed your eyes, your hand resting over his heart. “That’s all I ever needed. You don’t have to have all the answers. We just have to be willing to fight for this… together.”
For a long moment, neither of you moved. It was as if the weight of everything had finally settled, and you could both breathe again. The past few weeks of fear, pain, and self-sabotage seemed to fall away in that simple moment of honesty, of vulnerability. He kissed you again, this time with more certainty, more passion—a promise, a plea, a final letting go of everything that had been holding him back.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered between kisses, his hands tangled in your hair as if trying to pull you closer. “I’ll never push you away again. I swear.”
And in that moment, you knew. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy. But it was real.
You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, the tears that had been threatening to fall finally slipping down your cheeks, but they weren’t from the pain anymore. They were from the relief, the overwhelming sense that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t so far apart after all.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered softly, your voice full of conviction. “We’ll figure it out, together.”
Chris looked at you then, and for the first time in so long, there was something in his eyes that had been missing: hope. And in that moment, you both broke through the walls you had built. Slowly, but surely, you started to find each other again.
The days after that night blurred into something softer, something almost easier to bear. But even as you held onto him, clung to him like he was your anchor, you both knew that healing wasn’t instant. It wasn’t a fix you could just bandage over with a kiss, no matter how many times you whispered to each other that everything would be okay.
The truth was, there were still pieces of you that weren’t whole. There were still cracks where trust had shattered, and silence had turned into walls that both of you had to climb over, brick by brick. It was a slow process—agonising, even—but it was progress.
You spent more time together in the days following, the kind of quiet time that allowed you both to breathe and settle back into a rhythm. But there was always that underlying tension, that fear of the unknown. You couldn’t erase the past, couldn’t erase the mistakes, no matter how badly you wanted to. But it was easier with him near. Easier to pretend that things could go back to normal, even if the truth was you both had changed.
It was a lazy afternoon when the conversation finally came. You were sitting on the couch, Chris’s head resting in your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair. The sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft patterns across the floor. The stillness was comforting. But the words that hung in the air between you both weren’t so easy.
“I never meant to hurt you,” Chris said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes closed as if afraid to face the weight of what he was about to say.
You stopped running your fingers through his hair and looked down at him, watching the vulnerable expression on his face. You had asked for honesty, begged for it, but hearing it from him still carried the weight of all that had happened.
“I know,” you whispered, tracing the outline of his jaw with your fingers. “But you did. And that’s… that’s the part I’m still trying to understand. That’s the part I’m still trying to accept.”
He nodded slowly, his brow furrowing with regret. “I wanted to protect you. I thought that if I kept pushing you away, I wouldn’t hurt you. But it never worked. I kept breaking everything without even realising it. And now, I’m scared that I’ve gone too far.”
You looked away for a moment, your chest tight with the truth of it. You could feel the hurt, the sting of the past few weeks, still lodged in your chest. But at the same time, you knew you weren’t the same person you were when it started. Neither of you were.
“I think… I think we’ve both hurt each other,” you said quietly. “And I can’t pretend that it didn’t matter. It did. But we’re here now. And I think... I think we can heal. Together.”
Chris opened his eyes then, and there was something so raw in them—something vulnerable that made your heart ache. “Do you really believe that?” he asked, his voice thick with uncertainty.
You nodded slowly, your fingers brushing against his skin once more, grounding him in the moment. “I do. But it won’t be easy. And I won’t pretend like I’m okay with everything you did. I’m still angry. I’m still hurt. But I can’t just walk away from you. I don’t want to. I want to make this work, Chris. But we both need to do the work. We both need to be better.”
He sat up then, his body tense, but his gaze never leaving you. “I know I have to change,” he said, his voice shaking a little. “I don’t want to keep pushing you away. I don’t want to make you feel like you’re not enough. You are enough. I just… I just don’t know how to stop being afraid of losing you. I don’t know how to stop thinking that I’ll ruin this too.”
You reached for him, pulling him into your arms again, knowing that words wouldn’t be enough to bridge the gap in the space between you. But touch—touch—was a way to communicate everything that words couldn’t.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly, your hand tracing his back, offering comfort, offering love. “I’ll be here. But you have to be here with me, too. You have to let me in. For real, Chris.”
He nodded, burying his face against your shoulder, breathing in the scent of you like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the moment. You could feel his tears soaking through your shirt, the quiet tremors of the fear that had been eating at him. You didn’t say anything more. You didn’t need to. The air between you both had shifted, and there was an understanding that had taken root—one that had to grow, slow and steady.
For the next few weeks, the world around you seemed to blur even more. Time passed, but it didn’t matter. You both moved through it in a kind of limbo, learning how to navigate each other’s pain, learning how to talk without the fear of being misunderstood.
Chris started sharing more with you—his fears, his insecurities, the things he had kept hidden for so long. It wasn’t always easy to hear, but it was real. He showed up, every day, fighting against the urge to run. And when he faltered, when he let the fear creep back in, you were there to remind him that he wasn’t alone anymore.
There were setbacks. Nights when you both lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were doing the right thing, wondering if this was really enough. But there were also moments that made it all feel worth it. Quiet mornings when you shared a cup of coffee and let the world outside fade into the background. Laughter over a silly inside joke that only the two of you understood. The small victories, the moments of tenderness, the moments when he looked at you and smiled like he had never made a mistake.
One evening, after a particularly quiet night of talking, Chris held your hand tightly, his thumb tracing the lines of your palm as he spoke. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, the words still heavy on his tongue, but this time there was a different kind of conviction behind them. “But I’m going to spend every day trying to show you that I can be someone worthy of your love.”
You smiled, squeezing his hand. “I’m not going anywhere,” you repeated, just like you had that night at the door. “But you don’t have to try alone. We’re in this together.”
And for the first time in so long, Chris didn’t pull away. He let himself be held. He let himself be loved. And slowly—so slowly, you almost didn’t notice—the walls began to crumble. The fear, the self-doubt, the distance that had once defined your relationship started to fade, replaced by something quieter, something stronger. Trust. Patience. Hope.
You didn’t know what the future would bring. You didn’t know if this was the end of the story, or if it was just the beginning of something new. But you knew this: whatever happened, you were no longer afraid of loving him. And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t afraid of loving you either.
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Another angst. I do throughly enjoy writing angst but i think i might write a fluff next 👀
