Felix left early in the morning, suitcase in hand, eyes lingering on me a moment too long. “You’re going to be fine, right?” he asked softly, voice almost breaking.

I nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Don’t worry about me. Go focus on your work.”

He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, then just kissed my temple gently. “I’ll be back before you know it. Call me if anything.”

I watched him go, the door closing behind him with a hollow click that echoed through the apartment. The silence pressed in immediately, heavier than the room itself.

And then I heard a familiar, deliberate knock.

Rylan.

“Mind if I come in?” His voice was calm, almost neutral, but there was a softness in his eyes I hadn’t expected.

I swallowed, heart racing. “Sure… come in.”

He stepped inside, shaking off the drizzle from his coat. He glanced at the empty suitcase by the door, then back at me. “Felix left?”

I nodded, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket I’d been curled in. “Yeah… for a few days.”

Rylan’s expression softened, almost imperceptibly. “I see.”

I didn’t know what to say. The silence stretched between us, and for the first time since… everything, I didn’t feel threatened. Not by him, not by the memory of what we’d been, not by the storm inside me.

“Can I… sit?” he asked finally, gesturing to the couch.

I nodded again, barely trusting my voice. He sat, careful and quiet, his presence less imposing than usual, more human. More… near.

We didn’t speak for a while. I focused on the rain tapping against the window, pretending it was a shield. But then he reached out, just a hand resting lightly on mine. Not a grab, not an assertion, just… contact.

“I wanted to check on you,” he said quietly. “After… the hospital.”

I felt my chest tighten. “I’m okay now,” I whispered, though I knew it wasn’t entirely true. “Felix… he helps me. But he’s not here.”

Rylan’s gaze softened. “I know. And I’ll be here if you need.”

Something in me shifted, a small thread of warmth weaving through the anxiety. Not trust not yet, but a subtle comfort I hadn’t realized I’d been craving.

For the first time in a long while, I felt… seen. Really seen.

We started talking, slowly. Small things: the rain, the city outside, memories of the office, nothing heavy, nothing that forced us to confront the past. Just… conversation.

And yet, with every word, every glance, every quiet moment of understanding, the space between us softened, edges blurring like sunlight through mist.

“Do you want some tea?” I asked finally, breaking the silence.

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah… thanks.”

As I poured it, I realized something: it wasn’t the resolution of everything. Not yet. We hadn’t solved the misunderstandings, hadn’t erased the past, hadn’t spoken the words that still lingered between us like ghosts.

He didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. And that made it worse. I could feel the tension stretching between us, fragile and awkward, like a thread that might snap at any moment.

We talked, eventually. Or tried to. Sentences started, then stopped. Words stumbled over one another. I wanted to say, thank you for staying, but it came out as, “Thanks… for… I mean, being here.”

He blinked. “Right. For… being here.” He cleared his throat. “You know… You can tell me things. About… anything.”

I swallowed. The words pressed against my tongue. I wanted to tell him about the panic, the exhaustion, how much I’d leaned on Felix, how I’d felt abandoned when he left. But I didn’t. Instead, I muttered, “I know. I just… don’t always know how.”

He nodded slowly, like he understood more than he let on, but I couldn’t tell if it was empathy or impatience. The air felt tight, charged with something we couldn’t name.

Minutes passed. We didn’t speak much. I kept glancing at him, trying to read his expression, but he did the same with me. And in that quiet, awkward tension, I realized something I hadn’t admitted: I liked this. The closeness, even with the fumbling words. I liked that he was here, that we were trying, even if neither of us knew how.

Finally, he sighed. “This is… harder than I thought.”

“Yeah,” I said, voice low. “Talking… It’s not easy.”

He gave a small, tight smile, almost a grimace. “No. Not at all.”

And for the first time in weeks, the silence didn’t feel heavy. It felt… possible. Fragile, awkward, but possible.

We didn’t solve anything. We didn’t fix the past. We didn’t even say what we really wanted. But maybe, just maybe, it was the first step toward finding

“Call me if… anything,” he said, voice soft but firm. “I’ll be around.”

I nodded, a faint warmth curling in my chest. Alone again, I felt the emptiness that Felix’s absence left but also, strangely, a thread of comfort.

The storm outside had also softened; the rain had reduced to a gentle drizzle. And somewhere in that quiet, I allowed myself to believe that maybe… just maybe… things could get better.

But nothing was resolved yet. And I knew it wouldn’t be easy.