Emma woke to a quiet morning, the kind where sunlight felt soft and the world seemed unhurried. Usually, she would start her day with coffee and a quick message from Ethan. But today… her phone was silent.
She tried not to overthink it. People got busy. Life had moods. But a gentle ache settled in her chest anyway. After everything that had been happening between them, silence felt louder than words.
She made coffee, sketched a little, and waited.
No message.
No call.
By noon, she told herself to stop staring at her phone. She grabbed her bag and went for a walk, hoping movement would quiet her thoughts. The city was alive—cars moving, children laughing, vendors calling out—but her heart felt strangely distant from all of it.
Maybe he's just tired.
Maybe work got chaotic.
Maybe yesterday… affected him more than he showed.
She hated that her mind spiraled into questions she didn't want to ask. It wasn't a lack of trust—just fear. Fear of losing something before it fully began.
---
As the day slipped into afternoon, Emma found herself near the art store she loved. She stepped inside, letting the familiar smell of paper and pencil shavings calm her. She browsed quietly, testing brushes with her fingertips, flipping through sketchpads she didn't need but loved to touch.
She was reaching for a new pencil set when someone spoke behind her.
"Emma?"
Her heart jumped. She turned—
Ethan.
He looked like he had been running, slightly out of breath, his hair a little messy, his eyes carrying something heavier than usual.
"Ethan…" she breathed, relief washing through her chest. "I didn't expect you."
"I know." He exhaled deeply. "I'm sorry."
Emma held the pencil set in her hand but suddenly forgot she was even holding anything. "You don't have to apologize," she said softly. "I just… didn't hear from you, and I wasn't sure if something happened."
He took a step closer, his gaze sincere. "Something did happen, actually," he admitted. "Not something terrible—just… something I wasn't ready to talk about yet."
Emma felt a flicker of worry. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," he said quickly. "I'm okay. It's just… complicated."
There it was again—complication. The part of Ethan he still kept shielded, even while opening his heart inch by inch.
She nodded, giving him space instead of pressure. "You don't have to explain everything today."
Ethan looked almost relieved at her softness. "Thank you," he murmured. "I didn't want you to think I was ignoring you. I wasn't. I just needed time to clear my head."
Emma placed the pencil set back on the shelf and stepped closer. "I understand. I really do. But next time… just send a message. Even a short one. Just so I know you're okay."
His expression softened, guilt flickering in his eyes. "You're right. You deserved that. I should've done better."
When he reached for her hand, it felt natural. Familiar. Warm.
"Come," he said gently. "Let's get out of here."
---
They walked toward the riverside, where sunlight shimmered on the water and the air smelled faintly of pine. They found a quiet bench beneath a tree and sat, their shoulders brushing lightly.
Ethan took a long breath before speaking.
"There's something about me you don't know," he said, eyes fixed on the river. "Something I've avoided talking about because I didn't want it to change the way you see me."
Emma turned to him, her voice steady. "Whatever it is… I'd rather know the real you than a perfect version you don't feel comfortable being."
He smiled a little at that—small but grateful.
Then he spoke, quietly:
"My father and I haven't spoken in almost three years."
Emma blinked, surprised. "Oh… Ethan."
"It's not something I talk about," he continued softly, "because it still… weighs on me. There were harsh words, decisions I made that he didn't agree with. And sometimes… I feel like that distance affects everything, including how I connect with people."
Emma's heart tightened. She didn't interrupt. She simply listened.
"I didn't message you this morning because something reminded me of him. And I didn't know how to handle it. I shut down for a while." He rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated with himself. "I should've told you earlier. I'm not proud of how I handled it."
Emma reached out, laying her hand gently over his. "Ethan… I'm sorry you've been carrying that alone."
He inhaled slowly, like her touch steadied him. "You shouldn't have had to wonder where I was. That's on me."
She squeezed his hand. "You're human. You're allowed to need time. You're allowed to have pain. You're allowed to not be perfect with me."
His eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked at her the way someone looks at a safe place after a long storm.
"Emma…" he whispered. "I care about you more than I know how to say."
Her breath caught, warmth blooming across her chest. "I care about you too."
Ethan leaned slightly closer—not enough to break boundaries, but close enough that she felt his breath on her cheek.
Close enough that her heart sped up.
Close enough that she felt something shift in the air—deeper, stronger, unspoken.
He didn't kiss her.
He didn't rush her.
He simply stayed close, forehead almost touching hers.
"Thank you," he murmured. "For being gentle with me."
Emma's voice trembled. "You don't have to thank me. I'm not going anywhere."
---
They spent the next hour talking about lighter things—childhood stories, personal dreams, silly fears. The tension eased, replaced with quiet comfort.
When Ethan walked her home, he paused at her door.
"I'll message you tomorrow," he said softly. "I promise."
Emma smiled. "I'll be waiting."
He hesitated for a moment—then pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
Not rushed.
Not demanding.
Just honest affection.
Emma's breath caught as he stepped back, cheeks slightly flushed. "Goodnight, Emma," he whispered.
"Goodnight, Ethan."
When she closed the door behind her, she leaned against it, her heart full—full of warmth, full of hope, full of something blooming gently inside her.
And somewhere down the hallway, Ethan walked away feeling lighter than he had in years…
all because she didn't run when he revealed the part of himself he feared most.