The countryside was quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against the walls of Caelum's house. The wooden beams creaked with age, and the faint scent of earth and pine drifted through the open window. Outside, the fields stretched endlessly, bathed in the pale glow of the moon.
Melissa stood near the doorway, her arms folded.
Caelum sat in the armchair, his smile polite but restrained.
"We need to talk," Melissa said, her voice laced with bitterness.
"Sit down," Caelum said. "It's just a talk."
She didn't move. Her eyes, cold and unblinking, pierced through him like glass.
For a moment, Melissa's gaze softened, her shoulders slumping as she let out a weary sigh.
"I'm tired of this, Caelum," she said quietly. "I won't spend my life growing old in this dull countryside, doing the same thing every day."
Her words hung in the air, heavy with longing. For a heartbeat, the house seemed to listen too, its walls echoing with the truth she had finally spoken aloud.
"The village chief already promised me better work," Caelum said firmly. "Things will change soon, Melissa. We won't have to struggle like this forever."
"You've said that before," she whispered. "Every time, it's the same promise. And every time, nothing changes."
She hesitated, then added with a bitter edge, "Do you remember the neighbor's daughter? She left for the city, and now she's a bigshot. Everyone talks about her success. She didn't stay here waiting for promises—she made her own future."
The words struck harder than she intended, echoing through the room. Caelum's jaw tightened, his pride stung by the comparison.
"The city will swallow you whole," Caelum said, his voice rising as he began listing dangers. "You'll lose yourself in its chaos. You think you're strong enough, but you're not. I've seen what happens to people who chase freedom without thinking."
Melissa crossed to the window, staring out at the dark fields before speaking again. Her tone lowered, almost a whisper, but every word cut deeper.
"You don't get to decide that for me. The city isn't a trap—it's freedom. Maybe that's what scares you."
The room seemed to shrink around them, the walls holding their raised voices. Caelum's frustration spilled over, his fists tightening against the armrest.
"If you leave," he said, his voice hard, "you leave for good. There's no turning back. You and I are done."
The words tasted wrong the moment he said them, but pride wouldn't let him take them back.
Melissa's lips curled into a bitter smile.
"An ultimatum, Caelum? That's all you have left? Threats?"
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant cry of an owl. Melissa's gaze remained steady, defiant. Caelum's composure cracked.
"Why can't you just be content?" he demanded. "What's wrong with the life we have here?"
Melissa's heart pounded, though her voice stayed calm. She thought of the city lights she had only seen from afar—each one a promise of something more, something beyond the suffocating walls of this room. She had dreamed of walking those streets, of finding herself among strangers, of carving out a life that was hers alone.
He realized then that it wasn't the city he feared—it was losing her to it. But the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he wrapped his fear in warnings, in ultimatums, in control.
Melissa turned from the window, her voice sharp now.
"You think I'll lose myself? Maybe I already did—here, with you, in this cage you built."
Caelum rose from his chair, his voice booming.
"I built nothing but safety! You call it a cage, but it's protection. Do you think the world out there cares about you the way I do?"
Melissa stepped closer, her whisper slicing through his anger.
"If caring means chaining me down, then I'd rather take my chances with the world."
The air felt heavy, suffocating under the weight of their words.
Caelum broke the silence one last time.
"Leave if you must. But once you do, don't come back."
Melissa's hand hovered near the door handle. Her breathing was steady. She didn't answer. She didn't need to. The choice had already been made.
She turned away from him and crossed the room. Without another word, she pulled open the old chest at the foot of the bed. The hinges groaned, as if protesting her decision. One by one, she folded her clothes into a worn leather bag, each movement deliberate, each silence louder than any argument.
The countryside night pressed in through the cracked window. Crickets sang in the fields, and the faint smell of smoke drifted from outside.
Caelum left the room, his frustration carried with him. He crossed the yard toward the toolshed, a lantern swinging in his hand. Inside, the familiar scent of oil and rust greeted him. He lit a cigarette, the glow briefly illuminating his face, and set about fixing the farm tools scattered across the bench.
His hands worked with practiced ease—tightening bolts, sharpening blades—but his mind was elsewhere. Every clang of metal was a distraction, every drag of smoke an attempt to steady the storm inside him. He told himself he was repairing tools, but in truth, he was trying to mend the cracks forming between them.
Back in the house, Melissa's bag grew heavier. She paused once, her fingers brushing a faded scarf, a remnant of gentler days. Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to keep packing.
From the toolshed, Caelum glanced toward the window. He could see her silhouette moving inside, each gesture a reminder that she was slipping away. He exhaled a long stream of smoke, the ultimatum echoing in his mind.
He walked down the alley and stopped at a small roadside stall selling bottles. He bought a cheap bottle of harsh liquor, uncorked it, and drank as he made his way back.
Each swallow burned, but he didn't slow down. He only wanted to drink enough to pass out—so he wouldn't have to watch Melissa leave.