The morning air was crisp, carrying a faint chill that made Emma pull her cardigan tighter around her shoulders. She walked toward the café with her sketchbook tucked under her arm, but today, her mind wasn't on drawing. It was on Ethan.
Yesterday had been perfect in its quiet simplicity—coffee, laughter, and gentle conversations by the river. But today, a small seed of doubt had taken root in her mind. Nothing concrete, just a flutter of unease. She tried to shake it off. I'm overthinking again, she told herself.
She reached the café and spotted Ethan already inside, sitting at their usual corner table, phone in hand. He looked focused, brows slightly furrowed, but when he saw her, his face softened.
"Hey," he said, standing as she approached.
"Hey," Emma replied, forcing a smile.
They sat, ordered coffee, and for a few moments, the conversation flowed easily. But Emma noticed something odd—Ethan kept glancing at his phone, answering messages quickly, then tucking it away. The light in his eyes wasn't quite the same as yesterday.
"Everything okay?" she asked, trying to sound casual.
He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah… just a lot going on at work. Nothing to worry about."
Emma nodded, but the flutter of unease lingered. Something about his tone didn't match his words. She let it go for now, choosing to focus on their coffee and the quiet rhythm of the café.
Later that day, Emma returned to her apartment and tried to sketch. But her hands weren't steady. Every line felt off, every stroke heavier than it should be. She kept glancing at her phone, hoping for a message from Ethan, even though she knew he was busy.
When it finally buzzed, her heart leapt.
Ethan: "Hey… sorry if I seemed distant this morning. Work was just… a mess."
Emma smiled faintly and typed back:
Emma: "It's okay. I understand. Just hope you're taking care of yourself too."
She sent it and set the phone down, trying to focus on her sketches. But the small unease in her chest refused to leave
Across town, Ethan sat at his desk, staring at a confusing email. A client's complaint had escalated unexpectedly, and his manager's voice was already echoing in his head: Handle it or face consequences.
He reached for his phone, intending to reassure Emma, but paused. He didn't want to add his stress to hers. She doesn't need this right now, he thought. And so he didn't reply immediately, telling himself he would later.
But later became hours. And hours became an evening where Emma's messages went unanswered.
Emma waited. And when no message came, her stomach tightened. Not anger, not frustration—just a hollow ache of uncertainty. She tried to focus on her sketches, on the small routines of the day, but her thoughts kept returning to Ethan.
Is he upset with me? Did I do something wrong?
By evening, she decided to walk to the riverside park, hoping the calm of the water would soothe her. The sky was streaked with gold and orange, the last rays of sun reflecting off the river like molten glass.
She sat on their usual bench, letting the quiet embrace her. And in that stillness, she realized something important: the space between them wasn't just about distance—it was about trust. And trust, she reminded herself, didn't disappear because of a moment of silence.
Ethan finally arrived, his steps quick, slightly apologetic. "Emma," he said as he reached her, voice low but earnest.
She looked up, forcing a calm smile. "Hey."
He sat beside her, taking her hand gently. "I'm sorry. I should've messaged sooner. Work just… consumed me, and I didn't want to dump it on you."
Emma squeezed his hand. "I understand," she said softly. "I know you didn't mean to pull away. But… I felt the distance. I want to be part of your life, not just when it's easy."
He nodded, looking into her eyes. "I know… and I'll do better. I promise. You're too important to let work or fear create walls between us."
She smiled faintly, leaning her head on his shoulder. "We'll learn. Slowly. One day at a time."
Ethan rested his forehead against hers, the quiet intimacy speaking louder than words ever could. "One day at a time," he echoed.
The rest of the evening passed quietly. They walked along the river, shared a small laugh over a clumsy duck waddling too close, and held hands without speaking. The silence was no longer heavy—it was a gentle reassurance, a reminder that even when challenges appeared, they could face them together.