Ellie
It had been two weeks since that call. The one where she said goodbye to the only person who ever made her feel seen. The nights hadn't been the same since. Ellie would stare at her ceiling, holding her phone, rereading his last words like they were written in a language only her heart could understand.
"Someday, when the time is right for both of us, I'll find you again."
"For the last time, I love you."
She whispered it into her pillow now. Like a prayer. Like a confession.
Every night was filled with what ifs and maybe if I'd just held on longer. Her chest ached with guilt. She thought ending it would make things lighter, easier. But instead, she carried a new kind of heaviness—the regret of giving up on someone who never really gave up on her.
"I was weak," she muttered, sitting at the edge of her bed. "I should've stayed. I should've fought harder."
Ashley knocked on her door. "You okay?"
Ellie forced a smile. "Yeah. Just tired."
But she wasn't tired. She was grieving. And no one around her understood. Because she never told them how deeply she'd loved someone she had never met in person.
She opened their chat again.
Still no message.
Still no trace of him.
Ady
At the small café where he worked part-time, Ady wiped down tables with mechanical movements. Customers came and went, conversations floated past him, but nothing stuck. Everything blurred.
Except her voice. Her goodbye.
He hadn't deleted their messages. He couldn't. But he hadn't opened them again either.
"I should've answered sooner," he muttered, flipping a clean cup over. "I should've made more time. Even just five minutes… something."
He thought about the night she called. He had a feeling what she was going to say, but he hoped—desperately hoped—that she would change her mind halfway through. That she'd break down crying and ask him to fight for her.
But she didn't.
And he didn't stop her.
Because deep down, he had known he had let her down too many times. She asked for presence, and he gave her promises. She asked for time, and he gave her silence.
He sat on the back steps of the café during break, pulled out his phone, and opened their chat.
He didn't type anything.
Just stared at her last words.
"I love you."
He closed his eyes. His chest hurt in that familiar way—the one that made it hard to breathe.
"I love you too," he whispered into the evening air, though it was too late.
Ellie
She went out with Ashley and Ken that night, trying to forget, trying to feel normal again. They talked about upcoming plans, internships, new restaurants.
But Ellie sat there, half-present, sipping her drink and forcing smiles.
All she could think was: He should be here. Laughing with me. Talking about our plans. Our future.
It was then she realized it wasn't just the distance that broke them.
It was fear.
Her fear of being not enough. Of being a burden. Of being loved by someone she felt she didn't deserve.
And maybe that's why she let go.
Because she didn't think she was worthy of the love he gave.
But now, she realized, she was. And maybe he wasn't perfect—but he tried. And sometimes trying was the most love a person could give.
Tears slid down her cheek silently. Ken noticed, giving her a concerned glance.
"You okay, El?"
She nodded. "Just tired."
Ady
He walked home from his shift that night in the rain.
He didn't even bring an umbrella.
Every step felt like a memory. Every streetlight reminded him of a time he had rushed to reply to her, just to make her smile. He remembered watching her fall asleep on video calls, her soft breathing the only sound in his room.
He remembered how she used to say "stay safe" like it meant more than the words themselves.
He missed her. God, he missed her.
He reached home soaked, pulled off his wet hoodie, and lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
He imagined her doing the same.
Together, but apart.
Both of them were hurting.
Both of them were healing.
And somewhere in the middle of that pain, was the quiet, unshakable truth:
They had loved each other.
And they still did.