The distance between them was growing.
On the outside, she pretended nothing had changed. She laughed the same, spoke the same, walked the same corridors with the same careless ease. Anyone watching her would think she was untouched, unaffected—still the same girl she had always been.
But inside, her chest kept aching.
Something had shifted, and she felt it in quiet moments—in pauses between tasks, in the silence that followed conversations, in the way his words kept circling her mind without permission. No matter what she did, she couldn't focus. His voice replayed itself again and again, especially the harsh parts, the ones spoken in anger.
Whenever everything started feeling too heavy, she did what she had always done—she walked.
Walking was her escape. She would walk and talk to herself, whispering thoughts just loud enough for her own ears to hear. Confessions, arguments, questions she never asked him. It was the only place where she allowed herself to be honest.
While walking, she prayed for one small thing—just one glance. Just to see him once. To know he was there. That he existed beyond her thoughts.
But he was nowhere to be found.
She started going at exactly seven in the evening—the same time she had seen him before. Sharp. Every day. As if timing herself perfectly could summon him. But his schedule had changed. Some days he came early, some days late, some days not at all.
He had no idea she was waiting there.
And how could he?
How could she ever ask him to be there for her—when she was the one who had pulled away first?
The last argument replayed in her head like a wound that refused to heal. His words had been sharp. Cruel in a way anger often is.
That she was selfish.
That she only thought about herself.
That she was treating him like a toy.
That he never wanted to talk to her again.
Those words hurt her deeply. More than she would ever admit.
But she wasn't someone who could hold grudges. She never had been. And this time, the person who hurt her was also the one she wanted to hold on to the most.
So how could she stay angry?
How could she hate someone she still waited for—at the same place, at the same time, every evening?
She blamed herself instead. For not being brave enough. For not choosing him when he had asked. For wanting closeness without commitment, comfort without courage.
She kept walking.
Kept waiting.
Kept pretending nothing had changed.
But everything had.
And deep down, she knew—this distance wasn't just between two people.
It was between what she wanted…
and what she was too afraid to reach for.