Aaron heard the door unlock before he saw her. He was standing at the stove, stirring pasta, the steam rising in soft clouds that blurred the narrow kitchen. He tried not to look like he had been waiting, even though he had been checking the time every few minutes since getting home.

Julia stepped inside, shutting the door gently behind her. Her hair was slightly out of place, her shoulders slumped the way they got when she’d had too many deadlines in one day. She set her bag down by the counter, rubbing her neck where tension seemed to cling.

“Hey,” Aaron said, keeping his tone light. “You’re home.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Long day.”

He gave a small nod. “Dinner’s almost ready. Nothing fancy.”

“That’s fine. Thank you.”

She meant it. He could tell. But her voice carried the kind of exhaustion that muted everything else. She walked to the sink, washed her hands slowly, then leaned on the counter and watched him cook without really watching.

Aaron drained the pasta and portioned it into two bowls. He added a simple sauce he’d made earlier—garlic, tomatoes, a little basil. He wasn’t trying to impress her; he just wanted to make something that didn’t require effort to eat.

They sat at the small table. The overhead light hummed faintly, and for a moment the only sounds were the quiet clinking of forks against ceramic.

Julia took a bite, then another. “This is good,” she said.

“Thanks.”

The words sat between them, small, fragile, almost swallowed by the quiet.

“How was work?” Aaron asked.

Julia’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. “Busy. A lot of last-minute changes.”

“Everything okay?”

She exhaled through her nose, a soft, tired sound. “Just… everything all at once. Meetings shifted. Clients changed their minds. Elise dumped three new tasks on me before lunch. I barely had time to breathe.”

“Sorry,” Aaron murmured.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” she said, not unkindly, just tired. “It’s just how it is.”

He nodded, taking another bite even though his appetite had faded. “Did Melissa ever send that update?”

Julia set her fork down. “No. She sent a message saying she’s ‘working on it’ and then added a heart emoji.”

Aaron frowned. “A heart emoji?”

“Yeah.” Julia shook her head. “I don’t know if she thinks that makes delays cute or what.”

“Did you text her back?”

“I didn’t trust myself to.”

Aaron didn’t push. He didn’t need to. He could see the frustration sitting in her shoulders, could feel the weight of it pressing down on the room.

“You shouldn’t have to chase them,” he said after a moment.

“I know.”

“I can try calling tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to,” she replied quickly, almost too quickly.

“I know I don’t have to,” he said. “But I can help.”

Julia pressed her lips together, the tension in her jaw returning. “It’s not that I don’t want your help, Aaron. I just… I don’t want to get my hopes up every time someone says ‘I’ll check’ or ‘I’ll follow up.’ It feels pointless.”

He nodded, though something inside him tightened. “I get that.”

“No you don’t,” she said, then immediately closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

“It’s okay,” he said quietly.

She ran a hand through her hair. “I just feel like every time I take a step forward, something pushes me three steps back.”

Aaron rested his hands on the table. “We’ll figure it out.”

Julia smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s what you always say.”

“Well… it’s what I believe.”

“I wish I believed it right now.”

He didn’t know how to respond. There was an ache sitting just below his ribs—the kind that came from wanting to help but not knowing how to reach her.

They kept eating, slow and silent. Not uncomfortable silence, just… heavy. Like they were both trying to protect themselves from saying the wrong thing.

After a few minutes, Julia finally spoke again. “I know I’ve been quiet lately.”

Aaron looked up. “So have I.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I guess we both have.”

The honesty softened the air between them for a moment.

“But I’m not trying to shut you out,” Julia continued. “I’m just overwhelmed. And when I’m overwhelmed, I go inward. I always have.”

“I know,” he said gently. “I’m not taking it personally.”

“Are you sure?”

He hesitated. “I’m trying not to.”

Julia nodded slowly, as if she didn’t quite trust the answer but didn’t have the energy to push further.

“I really do appreciate dinner,” she added. “I just… don’t feel like myself right now.”

“You don’t have to feel okay,” he said. “Not tonight.”

She let out a breath that trembled slightly. “Thanks.”

They finished eating. Aaron stood to clear the plates, but Julia rose too.

“I’ve got it,” she said.

“You sure?”

She nodded. “Let me do this one thing.”

He let her.

She washed dishes quietly while he wiped down the table. There was an unexpected rhythm to it—small movements, soft clinks, the running faucet. It almost felt like teamwork, the way it used to. Not perfect, not effortless, but familiar.

When they finished, Julia leaned back against the counter. “I think I’m going to shower.”

“Okay,” he said.

She stepped closer for a moment—not touching him, just standing within reach. “I don’t want you to think I don’t care.”

“I don’t,” he answered. “I know.”

She nodded, turned, and walked down the hallway.

Aaron stood there for a long moment, listening to the sound of water starting in the bathroom. He leaned his hands against the counter and closed his eyes.

He wanted to fix everything—for her, for them—but he knew that wasn’t how life worked. Not now. Not with the house delayed, her stress rising, and the slow drift between them becoming something neither of them had intended.

Julia emerged twenty minutes later, hair damp, wearing an old sweatshirt of his. She looked more relaxed but still worn down around the edges.

“I might go to bed early,” she said.

“I’ll turn off the lights,” he replied.

She gave him a small, tired smile before heading to the bedroom.

Aaron finished tidying, turned off the lights, and sat on the couch in the dim glow of the streetlamps outside. He wasn’t avoiding her, but he also didn’t want to crowd her. He wanted to give her space, even though he wasn’t sure how much of it was for her and how much was for himself.

Eventually he joined her in the bedroom. She was already under the covers, eyes closed but not asleep.

He slid into bed quietly. The mattress shifted slightly. Julia turned just enough that he knew she was awake.

“Good night,” she whispered.

“Good night.”

He wanted to reach for her hand but didn’t. She wanted to lean into him but didn’t.

The space between them wasn’t wide.

But it was deep.