Without saying another word or even glancing in my direction, Theo stands up abruptly, his chair scraping harshly against the floor.
The suddenness of his movement makes the air feel heavier, almost suffocating. His strides are sharp and unrelenting as he storms toward the door, each step echoing in the tense silence between us.
That's when reality crashes into me like a cold wave. The sound of his retreat cuts straight into my chest, and my hand moves before I can think.
"Theo," I call out, my voice breaking with the raw edge of desperation. My fingers reach for him, barely brushing against the back of his hand. "I… I'm not well." The words leave my mouth almost like a sob, thin and trembling, and I hate how weak they sound.
He halts mid-step, shoulders stiff, and for a moment he doesn't turn. Then, slowly, he pivots back toward me.
