She sat by the window, staring at the rain-soaked streets. The droplets slid down the pane like tears, each one a reminder of what she'd lost. She'd given up hope of hearing from him, but a part of her still waited.
For an apology, maybe. A simple "I'm sorry" that would've changed everything. But it never came. Instead, there was silence—a heavy, suffocating silence that pressed down on her like a physical weight.
She thought about sending him a message, just to break the silence. But what would she say? "I'm still hurting"? "I still care"? The words felt hollow, pointless.
As the rain intensified, she closed her eyes and let the memories wash over her. She remembered the way he'd look at her, the way he'd make her laugh. But most of all, she remembered the way he'd left.
No explanation, no goodbye. Just silence.
She wandered through the days, lost in a sea of unanswered questions. Why didn't he reach out? Did he ever think of her? Did he ever regret the way things ended?
The not knowing was the hardest part. The uncertainty gnawed at her, making it impossible to move on.
Some wounds stay open, not because of the hurt itself, but because of the lack of closure. And for her, that wound would never heal, not without someone saying sorry.
The rain slowed to a gentle patter, and she opened her eyes. The world outside seemed quieter, softer. But inside, the ache remained.
As she gazed out the window, she realized that she was still trapped in this limbo, stuck between the past and the present. And in that moment, she knew:
His absence was a language she was still trying to learn.