The call dropped. Again.
Evan stared at the frozen screen on his laptop—Lia's face mid-blink, mid-smile. Then it vanished. Connection lost.
He let out a slow breath and closed the lid gently, like slamming it would only make it worse.
Their calls had been getting shorter. Not because they wanted to—but because they had to.
The time difference, the fatigue, the awkward silences that came from having too much to say and not enough ways to say it.
---
Lia:
> "Sorry. Internet's bad again. I'm exhausted. Talk later?"
He replied immediately.
> Evan:
"Yeah. Sleep well."
But she didn't even open the message.
---
It wasn't like before.
There was a time when every call felt like an adventure—when they stayed up until sunrise, talking about dreams, movies, baby names.
But now, even her laughter sounded tired. And his smiles were more out of habit than joy.
Not because they loved each other less.
But because distance doesn't just stretch love—it wears it thin.
---
That weekend, Evan was invited to a friend's birthday dinner. He said no.
What was the point of dressing up, laughing, spending money on food—when all he really wanted was to buy a plane ticket to someone he couldn't even hold?
But as he lay alone in bed that night, he realized something.
> He missed laughing.
He missed feeling like a person—not just a "boyfriend on the screen."
He missed… her. Not through a call. Not through a blurry webcam.
---
Meanwhile, in Manila, Lia stared at the ceiling of her shared dorm.
Her roommate was out with her boyfriend.
She wasn't jealous. She never had been.
But tonight, she wished she could feel Evan's arms just once. Hear his heartbeat instead of his digital voice. Argue face to face, then kiss it away.
She opened her old journal.
> "I still believe in us.
But sometimes… I wish love was easier.
Or that I could be stronger."
---
A message popped in from Evan.
> Evan:
"Still awake?"
She waited.
Typed.
Erased.
Typed again.
> Lia:
"Yeah. Miss you."
> Evan:
"I miss us."
---
There was nothing more to say.
No jokes.
No deep questions.
Just silence.
And longing.
But sometimes, that was enough.
Because the pain of waiting meant they were still holding on.