It was morning, but the world felt grey.
Mio was already awake when I opened the bedroom door.
I hadn't slept at all last night. She hadn't unlocked the door. I'd ended up curled on the hallway floor, right outside, just listening. Waiting. Hoping she'd open it.
She didn't.
And now, she moved through the kitchen in silence, dressed in one of those soft sweaters she always wore when she didn't want to feel things. Her hair was tied up, messy but neat. Her eyes were empty.
She didn't look at me.
"Mio," I said, my voice softer than it had ever been.
She opened the fridge.
"Mio," I tried again, stepping forward.
She poured herself a glass of water.
As if I wasn't even there.
I swallowed the ache in my throat.
She brushed past me, carrying her glass like I was air. Not someone she used to share smiles with. Not the man who'd held her waist just yesterday, teasing her cheek with a kiss.
That version of us felt like it had lived a lifetime ago.
