The city lights of Manila blurred past the window of Luna's jeepney as she laughed with Maya, her best friend, the music from the club still buzzing in her ears. She felt alive, free, untouchable.
Another night, another party. Ethan didn't matter tonight—not really.
Back at their apartment in Quezon City, Ethan was waiting.
He had been waiting for hours. The kitchen light glowed softly, illuminating two untouched plates on the table: rice, adobo, and her favorite side of fried egg. He sat on the couch, knees pulled to his chest, glancing at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time.
The ache in his side was more persistent now, gnawing quietly at him, but he ignored it. Luna didn't need to worry. She didn't need to see him weak, not when she had already chosen distance over him.
He had learned the rhythm of her nights: leaving without a word, returning past dawn, always smelling of perfume and alcohol. He didn't stop her. He didn't demand explanations. He simply waited, prepared, and loved in silence.
When Luna finally stumbled through the door at six in the morning, dragging Maya's heels along with her, she barely glanced at him.
"Morning," Ethan said softly, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Mm," she mumbled, heading straight to the bedroom.
He watched her go, heart sinking a little more each day. The familiar warmth of their mornings—the stolen smiles, the playful teasing, the shared coffee—was gone. Now, there was only routine and absence.
Days like this became the new normal. Nights she didn't come home. Nights he stayed awake, worried, waiting. Sometimes he fell asleep on the couch, only to wake to find the smell of her perfume lingering in the air, proof that she had returned.
One morning, frustrated, he finally asked, voice barely above a whisper:
"Why, Luna? Why do you keep staying if… if you don't love me anymore?"
She froze, her hand on the door handle. For a second, maybe he saw a flicker of guilt.
"I… I don't know," she said finally, voice tight. "Maybe… maybe I just… can't leave."
Ethan nodded, hiding the hurt in his chest behind a forced smile. He would never pressure her. He would never yell. He would wait. Always.
Because that was what love had become for him now—not passion, not intimacy, not even laughter. Just waiting.
And as he sat at the kitchen table, the plate of food untouched, the Manila skyline darkening outside, Ethan began to realize something he had never admitted even to himself:
Loving Luna had become both his greatest strength… and his quietest torture.
Little did he know, the ache in his body—the one he had been ignoring—was not just from heartbreak. It was the first warning of a time he would never have enough of, a time that would force him to hold onto her in ways even she could never understand.