Arga woke up late.
Not because he stayed up all night.
Not because he was exhausted.
He just… didn't feel the need to wake up early.
His hand reached for his phone on the bed. The screen lit up. A few notifications came in. Work groups. Emails. Random promotions.
No message from Alina.
He stared at the screen for a moment.
Longer than he realized.
Then he locked the phone again.
Usually, that was the first thing he checked every morning.
Now, that habit felt… half gone.
"It's fine," he muttered.
In the bathroom, he stood in front of the mirror longer than usual. His face looked normal. He didn't look like someone whose relationship was slowly falling apart.
And that was the strange part.
Everything looked fine.
But it didn't feel that way.
On the way to work, Arga didn't open their chat at all. Not on purpose. He simply forgot.
He only realized it when the bus stopped and people started getting off. His hand moved to grab his phone, then stopped halfway.
What for? he thought.
He slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket.
Around noon, Alina finally sent a message.
Alina: Morning. Sorry, I fell asleep last night.
The notification came while Arga was eating. He saw it. He didn't open it right away. His rice was still half untouched.
A few minutes later, he opened the chat.
He didn't feel surprised.
He didn't feel relieved.
It just felt… normal.
He typed a reply.
Yeah. It's okay.
Short.
No follow-up question.
Usually, he would've asked why she was tired. Or how her day was going.
Today, he didn't.
He put the phone down and continued eating.
By evening, work ended earlier than usual. Arga went straight home. In his room, he sat on his chair and opened his laptop, planning to watch something.
Five minutes passed.
Ten minutes.
He closed it again.
His phone vibrated.
Alina: Are you busy?
Arga read the message.
Stayed quiet.
Not because he didn't want to reply.
But because he honestly didn't know what to say.
Busy?
Not really.
Do I want to talk?
I don't know.
In the end, he replied.
No. Why?
A few seconds passed.
No reply.
Arga let out a small breath, almost like a laugh—but it faded quickly.
"Oh," he said quietly to himself. "So this is how it feels."
That night, they exchanged messages. Just a few. Only what was necessary.
No jokes.
No long stories.
No calls.
And strangely, Arga didn't feel the urge to fix it.
He turned off the light earlier than usual. The phone was placed far from his hand.
Before sleep took him, one thought came without asking permission.
I used to wait for your replies while holding my phone the whole time.
Now I don't even remember to check.
Arga took a short breath.
Not tight.
Not relieved.
Just empty.
The relationship wasn't over.
It still existed.
It still had a name.
But slowly, he realized—
it wasn't only the distance growing wider.
He was stepping back too.
Little by little.
No arguments.
No dramatic decisions.
Just… not checking anymore.