Goodbyes were strange things.
They didn't always come with hugs or final words. Sometimes, they arrived quietly—hidden inside plans, schedules, and decisions that felt practical on the surface.
Ethan's internship started the following week.
That single fact settled into the house like a new piece of furniture—unavoidable, always present.
Lily tried not to think about it.
She failed.
The days leading up to it passed in a careful blur.
Mornings were still shared, but shorter. Conversations still happened, but they drifted toward safer topics—weather, errands, trivial plans. Anything but the unspoken tension that hovered beneath everything.
Ethan noticed it too.
She smiled less.
Laughed softer.
Listened harder.
Like she was memorizing him without meaning to.
On his last free afternoon before the internship began, Ethan sat at the dining table, filling out forms on his laptop. Lily moved around the kitchen quietly, pretending to be busy.
"You don't have to hover," he said gently.
She glanced at him. "I'm not hovering."
He smiled. "You're hovering."
She sighed and leaned against the counter. "Fine. Maybe a little."
He closed the laptop. "You nervous?"
She shook her head too quickly. "No. Why would I be?"
"Because things are changing," he said simply.
She looked away.
"That doesn't always mean something bad," she said.
"No," he agreed. "But it usually means something ends."
The words landed heavier than he'd intended.
She swallowed. "This isn't an ending."
He studied her. "Then what is it?"
She didn't answer.
Because she didn't know.
That evening, Mark announced he'd be home late again.
"Dinner without me," he said casually. "Don't wait up."
The door closed behind him, and the house exhaled.
Again.
Ethan and Lily sat across from each other at the table, plates untouched for a moment.
"So," Ethan said, forcing lightness into his voice. "Tomorrow's my first day."
"I know," Lily replied. "You've mentioned it… twice."
He smiled. "Just making sure you remember."
She returned the smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"You'll do great," she said. "You always do."
"That's not true."
"It is," she insisted. "You just don't see it."
He hesitated. "You see me?"
She froze.
Then nodded. "Yes."
The honesty surprised them both.
Later, they found themselves on the couch, a movie playing quietly in the background. Neither of them was watching it.
Lily sat with her legs tucked beneath her, arms folded loosely. Ethan sat at the other end, posture careful, controlled.
"So what happens now?" she asked suddenly.
He turned toward her. "What do you mean?"
"With you being gone most of the day," she said. "Long hours. New people."
"I come home," he replied. "Same as always."
She nodded, but her fingers tightened around the fabric of the cushion.
"And if things… change?" she asked.
He studied her face. "Do you want them to?"
She didn't answer immediately.
"I'm afraid of what stays," she admitted. "And what doesn't."
Ethan leaned back, exhaling slowly.
"I don't think feelings disappear just because schedules change," he said.
She laughed quietly. "That's what scares me."
That night, sleep refused to come.
For either of them.
Ethan lay awake, listening to the house settle, aware that this was the last night before something shifted. Across the hall, Lily sat at her desk, staring at a blank notebook she hadn't opened in years.
She used to write.
Dreams. Thoughts. Versions of herself she never became.
She picked up the pen.
I don't know when this started, she wrote.
Only that it feels real enough to hurt.
She closed the notebook abruptly, heart racing.
This wasn't something she could rationalize away.
Morning arrived too quickly.
Ethan stood in the hallway, dressed neatly, backpack slung over one shoulder. Lily watched him from the kitchen doorway.
"You don't have to walk me out," he said gently.
"I know," she replied. "I want to."
They stepped outside together.
The air was cool, quiet. The city hadn't fully woken yet.
"Well," he said awkwardly, "this is it."
"For today," she corrected.
He smiled. "For today."
They stood there, neither moving.
"Be careful," she said.
"I always am."
"That's not what I meant," she replied softly.
He understood.
"I'll text you," he said. "If that's okay."
She nodded. "I'd like that."
They shared a long look—one that said everything they hadn't allowed themselves to voice.
Then he turned and walked away.
Lily watched until he disappeared down the street.
Only then did she let herself breathe.
The day dragged for Lily.
She cleaned, cooked, checked her phone more times than she'd admit. Every sound outside made her look up.
When her phone finally buzzed, her heart jumped.
Ethan:First day's intense. Long hours. But I'm okay.
She stared at the message before replying.
Lily:I'm glad. Don't forget to eat.
A pause.
Ethan:I won't. See you tonight.
She set the phone down, pressing her hand to her chest.
This was how it would be now.
Waiting.
Again.
Ethan came home late.
The house was dim, quiet. Lily sat in the living room, reading, though she hadn't turned a page in a while.
"You're back," she said, looking up.
"Yeah," he replied, tired but smiling. "Long day."
She stood. "Dinner's still warm."
"Thanks."
They sat together, closer than usual, exhaustion lowering their guards.
"How was it?" she asked.
"Overwhelming," he admitted. "But good. I think."
"I knew it."
He smiled. "You always do."
She hesitated, then reached out—stopping herself just before touching his arm.
He noticed.
They both did.
She withdrew her hand.
"Sorry," she murmured.
He shook his head. "It's okay."
But the space between them felt louder than ever.
Later, as they stood in the kitchen washing dishes, Lily spoke quietly.
"I didn't say goodbye this morning," she said.
He looked at her. "You did."
"I didn't mean a goodbye," she corrected. "I meant… I didn't say what I wanted to."
He dried his hands slowly. "What did you want to say?"
She took a breath.
"That I'll miss you," she said. "Even though you're still here."
His throat tightened.
"I'll miss you too," he replied.
They stood there, the words settling gently, painfully.
Some things didn't need to be dramatic to be real.
And some goodbyes—
Were never meant to be said out loud.
That night, as they retreated to their separate rooms, both carried the same realization.
Distance hadn't ended anything.
It had only changed the shape of it.
And whatever this was—
It wasn't fading.
It was waiting.
End of Chapter 8