Distance arrived quietly, disguised as routine.
Paris and Bali existed in different worlds—different skies, different clocks, different lives. While he woke to grey mornings and the hum of the city, I ended my days under warm sunsets and familiar air. Love had to learn new rules. Time zones became obstacles we navigated with care, counting hours instead of steps.
We learned to live inside messages.
Good morning texts became promises. Late-night calls turned into lifelines. Sometimes we spoke about everything—our days, our fears, the smallest details that made us feel close. Other times, we simply stayed on the line in silence, breathing together, letting presence travel where bodies could not.
It wasn't easy.
There were days when replies came late, when exhaustion replaced affection, when misunderstandings grew in the spaces between words. Distance magnified everything—fear, insecurity, longing. Some nights, I cried quietly after we hung up, wondering if love could survive being stretched so thin.
But we chose communication over pride.
When something hurt, we said it. When we felt overwhelmed, we admitted it. We didn't disappear when things became heavy—we stayed, even when staying was uncomfortable. We learned that love across distance isn't maintained by grand gestures, but by consistency. By effort. By honesty that sometimes trembled but never lied.
He sent me photos of Paris streets, cafés, rain-soaked evenings. I sent him sunsets, ocean views, pieces of my everyday life in Bali. We shared moments so neither of us felt alone inside our separate worlds.
On hard days, we reminded each other why we were doing this.
This distance was not punishment—it was preparation.
Slowly, the sadness learned how to coexist with happiness. Missing him hurt, but loving him still felt safe. Even apart, we were growing—individually, yet together. Love became less about physical closeness and more about emotional presence.
Some nights, we dreamed aloud. About reunions. About future mornings without time zones. About a life where distance would become just another chapter we survived.
Between Paris and Bali, love didn't fade.
It deepened.
Because despite the miles, the silence, and the uncertainty—we were still choosing each other. Every day. In small ways. In brave ways. In ways that mattered.
And somehow, that choice made the distance feel less like separation…
…and more like a promise.