Maxwell's POV
I have been trying to ignore this strange feeling sitting quietly in my chest for days, but today it feels heavier than usual, almost like a weight I cannot shake off. At first I kept telling myself that everything was fine. In fact, everything seemed better than fine. Rose was happy. Genuinely happy. And that alone was enough to make me feel lighter whenever I saw her walk through the door after her pottery classes.
Those first few days I was relieved. I liked seeing her come home with that soft glow in her eyes, that peaceful expression she rarely had when she was stressed or uncertain. She would talk about clay and colour mixing and wheels spinning, and though I did not understand half of what she was describing, I enjoyed the excitement in her voice. It felt good to see her invested in something again, something that was hers. Not work, not me, not responsibilities. Just something that made her hands busy and her heart warm.
But now, after weeks of this routine, I am beginning to grow suspicious. It is not my nature to be jealous, and I keep trying to convince myself that I am not. I truly do not believe she is doing anything wrong. But there is something different about her lately. Something I cannot name but cannot ignore either.
She is almost too cheerful. Too light. Too distracted. She gets lost in her own thoughts in the middle of conversations, smiling to herself for no clear reason. And whenever I ask her what happened at class or what made her laugh, she gives me the same sweet response, but her eyes flicker a little. Just a very small flicker, like she is pushing something away. Hiding something tiny, maybe insignificant, but still something.
I wish I had not noticed that flicker. It has been sitting in my mind like a tiny flame refusing to go out no matter how much logic I pour on it.
Ever since I got back from my trip, work has completely swallowed me. Meetings pile up faster than I can attend them. My company is facing threats concerning an old court dispute and I have been dragged back into legal and corporate chaos that I thought was long buried. Every morning I wake up tired from the weight of obligations waiting for me. Every night I collapse into bed still thinking about the next day's challenges.
I barely have time to breathe, let alone think. But even when I am waist deep in documents and negotiations, my mind drifts. It drifts to Rose at that pottery studio, shaping wet clay with her hands, smiling at something I cannot see, speaking to people I do not know, spending hours in a place I have never visited. A place I suddenly feel like I should have paid attention to a long time ago.
What could possibly be so amusing about pottery. It is clay. It is a wheel. It is a simple artistic process. Yet she comes home looking like she has been somewhere magical. Somewhere that fills her with something I apparently do not give her often enough. And that thought, that single idea, is what truly began to bother me.
Today I finally decided I needed to reconnect with her somehow, even if only for a couple of hours. I wanted to take her out. Nothing serious or overly romantic, just a little time together. An investor was hosting a birthday party and I thought she would enjoy dressing up, being around people, having something different to do. I imagined the two of us arriving together, enjoying the evening, stepping away from the normal routine for a while.
So I waited in the living room, rehearsing how casually I would ask her, not wanting to sound needy or desperate for her attention. When she finally walked in, she was adjusting the straps of her bag like she was preparing to head out again. That alone startled me a bit because she had just come back not long ago. Still, I tried to sound natural.
"Rose," I said, standing up from the sofa. "Can you come with me to a birthday party this afternoon"
She looked up at me with that soft smile she always gives when she is trying to be gentle. "A party..."
"its one of my investors birthday," I replied. "It is nothing stressful. Just a simple gathering. I thought it would be good for us to go together."
There was a tiny pause, almost too quick for anyone else to notice, but I noticed it. She glanced down at her bag, then back at me with an apologetic expression.
"Maxwell, I already promised I would help out the little children today," she said. "We are doing art activities and they need an extra hand. I cannot cancel on them. I really want to be there."
For a moment I just stared at her, and I am ashamed to admit that disappointment punched me harder than I expected. She could not spare even a couple of hours for me. Not even for something light and casual. I tried not to let the hurt appear on my face, so I kept my voice calm.
"You cannot spare just a couple of hours"
She shook her head gently, sympathy in her eyes. "I am sorry. I gave my word. Those children are expecting me. You understand, right"
I swallowed the frustration building in my throat and forced a small smile. "Of course. I understand."
She stepped closer, kissed my cheek softly, gave my hand a light squeeze, and walked out the door. Just like that. And the door closed behind her as gently as always, yet the sound echoed sharply in my chest.
I stayed there for a moment, staring at the empty space she left behind, wondering when exactly I became the afterthought. When exactly she became more excited about pottery and art activities than an evening with me.
Those thoughts followed me straight to the party.
I moved through the crowd mechanically, shaking hands, nodding politely, answering questions I barely heard. Everything felt distant. Even the music felt like dull noise in the background. All I could think about was Rose. Why she did not want to come. Why she seemed so eager to leave the house. Why she was so deeply involved with that pottery place.
Every time someone spoke to me, my mind drifted back to that same bright smile she gave me before walking out this morning. It was too bright, too excited, and it had nothing to do with me. The thought stung more than I wanted to admit.
Somebody called my name but I could not bring myself to respond. I made an excuse about needing air and slipped outside.
Noon was beginning to turn into evening and the city lights glittered below, but none of it calmed the unrest in me. I loosened my tie and leaned against the balcony rail, trying to gather myself. I felt ridiculous for even thinking this way. It was just pottery. Just clay. Just a harmless hobby.
So why did it feel like I was losing something. Losing her. Losing the closeness we used to have without even realizing when it slipped away.
I stared out into the sky and tried to push the thoughts aside, but they kept coming back stronger. If she was spending this much time there, then I needed to know what was happening. I needed to see the place. I needed to understand what was making her so excited and why she seemed further from me every day.
Maybe I was overthinking. Maybe there was nothing to worry about. Maybe I was just tired, stressed, and overwhelmed by everything happening at work.
Or maybe there was something she was not telling me.
I needed answers before this strange feeling in my chest grew into something darker and more painful or was I just angry that she was enjoying life on her own without me.