Chapter Eighteen: Time Zones and Unsaid Things
Distance changed everything.
Not all at once. Not dramatically. It changed things slowly, quietly—like water seeping into cracks until one day you realized the foundation felt different.
Ariel learned the rhythm of a new city fast. New streets. New accents. New expectations. Her days filled with orientation sessions, lesson plans, and the constant pressure to prove she deserved the opportunity she'd been given.
At night, the city softened.
That's when she missed Kai the most.
Their calls became sacred. Carefully planned around time zones, exhaustion, and unstable internet connections. Some nights they talked for hours, laughter spilling easily. Other nights, silence stretched between them, both too tired to bridge it.
"You still there?" Kai would ask.
"I'm here," she'd reply. Always.
But being there wasn't the same as being close.
⸻
Kai tried not to count the days.
Tried not to notice how Ariel's world kept expanding while his stayed the same. He was proud of her—genuinely. She sounded alive. Energized. Like someone stepping fully into herself.
And yet.
Every story she told came with unfamiliar names. New colleagues. New inside jokes he wasn't part of.
He smiled through it. Encouraged her. Never complained.
But some nights, after the call ended, he sat alone and wondered when admiration started feeling like grief.
⸻
The first real argument happened over nothing.
Or everything.
"You didn't text back," Kai said, voice tight.
"I was teaching all day," Ariel replied, already exhausted. "I told you that."
"It takes ten seconds to say 'busy.'"
"And it takes understanding to not make everything feel like pressure."
Silence followed.
"I'm not trying to control you," he said quietly. "I just miss you."
Her chest ached. "So do I. But I can't be everything at once."
The call ended shortly after. No resolution. Just heaviness.
Ariel cried that night—not because he was wrong, but because neither of them was.
⸻
Weeks passed.
The calls shortened. The replies slowed. Not intentionally. Just… naturally.
Ariel met Daniel during a staff meeting.
He was kind in an easy way. Helpful without trying to impress. He remembered the way she took her coffee and walked her home after late sessions, talking about books and childhood dreams.
She told herself it was harmless.
Because she loved Kai.
But loneliness had a voice, and sometimes it sounded like comfort.
⸻
Kai sensed the shift before Ariel said anything.
She sounded distracted. Less present. Smiling at things he couldn't see.
"Is there someone else?" he asked one night, half-joking.
The pause on the line was barely a second.
But it was enough.
"No," she said. Too quickly.
Kai closed his eyes.
Distance didn't need betrayal to do damage.
It just needed time.
⸻
The breaking point came on a random Tuesday.
"I might extend my stay," Ariel said softly.
Kai laughed, sharp and humorless. "Of course you might."
"It's a good opportunity."
"I know," he snapped. Then sighed. "I know."
She hugged her knees to her chest. "Say something."
"I don't know how to fight for you from here," he admitted. "I don't know where I fit in your life anymore."
Her voice trembled. "You still fit. Just… differently."
"Different feels like disappearing," he said.
Tears streamed down her face. "What do you want me to do?"
He was quiet for a long time.
Then: "I want you to choose me. And I hate myself for wanting that."
Her heart shattered.
"I can't promise forever right now," she whispered. "But I still love you."
Kai swallowed hard. "Love shouldn't feel this lonely."
That night, they didn't say goodnight.
⸻
Ariel stared at her ceiling long after the call ended.
She hadn't cheated. Hadn't lied.
But something fragile was slipping through her fingers.
Across the ocean, Kai sat in the dark, phone in his hand, wondering when love stopped being enough.
Distance hadn't broken them.
But it was teaching them how easy it could.