Emma woke up that morning with Ethan's voice still echoing softly in her mind.
We'll face it as a team.
She repeated those words like a quiet promise as she stood by her window, watching sunlight pour through the curtains. But even with that warmth in her chest, unease lingered. Something felt… unsettled. Not broken—just fragile.
Her phone lay on the bed beside her.
No message. No missed call.
She checked the time. 9:14 a.m.
Ethan always texted by now.
She told herself not to overthink it. People had busy mornings. Life didn't always follow habits. Still, the silence tugged at her more than she wanted to admit.
By afternoon, she gave in and sent a short message.
Hey… hope your day's going okay.
The message delivered instantly.
No reply.
Ethan sat at his desk, staring at his laptop without seeing a single word on the screen. His phone buzzed beside him. He saw Emma's name light up the display—but he didn't pick it up.
Not because he didn't want to reply.
But because he didn't trust his thoughts.
Claudia stood a few steps away, mid-conversation with a client on speaker. The office was tense. An unexpected audit had dropped on them that morning, and everything had turned chaotic. Mistakes from months ago were resurfacing. His manager had already hinted at possible consequences.
Ethan felt like the ground beneath him was shifting again.
Fear crawled quietly into his chest.
And fear always made him pull away.
Emma waited.
An hour passed. Then two.
By evening, the sky darkened into deep blue, and her phone remained silent. That quiet hurt more than she expected. It wasn't anger she felt—it was confusion. And a soft sadness that crept in when expectations met uncertainty.
She finally went for a walk, hoping the cool air would calm her thoughts. The city felt different at night—slower, heavier. Streetlights flickered on as if keeping watch over restless hearts.
Every couple she passed made her chest tighten.
Am I already this attached? she wondered.
Her phone finally buzzed in her hand.
Ethan.
Her breath caught as she opened the message.
Sorry today was intense at work. I'm really tired. Can we talk tomorrow?
Tomorrow.
Just one word, yet it felt like a wall.
Of course. Rest well, she replied.
The moment the message sent, she regretted how calm it sounded. She wanted to ask, Are you okay? Did I do something wrong? Why do you sound so far away?
But she didn't.
Because love sometimes meant holding your questions in your chest.
That night, Ethan lay awake in the dark, phone resting on his chest. He replayed Emma's face in his mind—the way her eyes searched his when she felt uncertain, the way her voice softened when she was trying not to worry.
He hated himself for pulling away.
But he was afraid.
Afraid that if the storm swallowed him again, she'd be right there in the middle of it.
And he didn't want her to drown with him.
The next day, Emma tried to distract herself by working on her sketches. But every line she drew felt wrong. Her hands weren't steady. Her heart wasn't fully present.
Late in the afternoon, she received a message—from someone she didn't expect.
Claudia.
Hi Emma. I hope this isn't weird. I just thought you should know Ethan was really stressed yesterday. He wouldn't even eat lunch. I know you care about him. I didn't want you to think he was ignoring you on purpose.
Emma stared at the screen.
Her emotions tangled instantly—relief, concern, confusion, and something sharper she couldn't quite name.
Why was Claudia the one explaining Ethan to her?
She typed slowly.
Thank you for telling me.
And that was all.
When evening came, Ethan finally showed up at Emma's door.
He looked tired. Not just physically—emotionally. His shoulders were tense, his eyes darker than usual.
Emma opened the door quietly.
For a moment, they just stood there, facing each other in the narrow hallway.
"I'm sorry," he said immediately. "For being distant."
Emma folded her arms gently, not defensively—protectively. "I wasn't angry," she said softly. "I was just… confused."
"I know." His voice dropped. "And you didn't deserve that."
She stepped aside, letting him in.
They sat on opposite ends of the couch at first. The space between them felt louder than any argument.
Ethan finally spoke. "When things start going wrong in my life, my first instinct is to disappear. Not because I stop caring… but because I'm scared I'll be too much to handle."
Emma's eyes shimmered. "You don't get to decide that alone. You don't get to decide how much I can handle. That should be my choice too."
His chest tightened. "You're right."
"I don't need perfection," she continued. "I just need honesty. Even when you're afraid."
Silence settled between them again—this time softer.
Ethan reached for her hand slowly, like he was asking for permission. When she didn't pull away, he held it.
"I don't want silence to be the thing that hurts us," he said.
Emma squeezed his fingers. "Then let's promise to speak… even when it's hard."
He nodded. "I promise."
Later that night, as Ethan prepared to leave, Emma walked him to the door.
He paused before stepping outside. "You know… when you're quiet, it scares me more than when you're upset."
She smiled faintly. "Then I guess we both need to learn each other's silences."
He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead—soft, careful, full of meaning.
"Goodnight, Emma."
"Goodnight, Ethan."
And when the door closed, neither of them felt completely at peace—but they felt closer than they had that morning.