The morning after Maddy's stormy intrusion hung heavy like fog in the apartment.
Anya had woken before dawn, her body restless though her mind screamed for sleep. She sat at the small dining table with her notebook open, pen poised, though the pages remained blank. Words didn't come; clarity didn't come. Only a tangle of thoughts that looped endlessly, Elias's silence, Maddy's voice ringing sharp in her ears, and the look on Elias's face when the door had finally shut behind Maddy.
It wasn't guilt alone that had etched itself into his features. It was something deeper confusion, perhaps, or the weight of things left unsaid. And though Anya wanted to reach for him, to ask him to explain, to assure him she wasn't broken by it, she couldn't. Because she was.
Elias hadn't touched her since. Not a brush of fingers across her cheek, not a casual hand at the small of her back. For a man who had lived so boldly, who met her with intensity from the moment they first collided, the distance was unbearable.
He had brewed coffee that morning. Set a mug quietly by her elbow. Not a word exchanged. She had thanked him with a polite smile that didn't reach her eyes, and he had nodded once before turning away.
And so began the silent war of two people who wanted to reach for each other but didn't know how.
The First Day
The hours crawled.
Anya kept herself busy, cleaning the already-clean counters, reorganizing her clothes, spending too long in the shower. Anything to keep her hands moving, her mind distracted. But each time she passed him in the hallway or caught sight of him on the couch, her chest tightened.
Elias stayed near the windows, scrolling aimlessly on his phone, pretending to read emails, flipping through a book he never really looked at. His eyes were distant. His jaw, tense.
Once, she caught him staring at her, and for a fraction of a second, his expression softened, as if he wanted to say something. But then he looked away, running a hand down his face, and the silence between them grew another inch thicker.
When they sat down to dinner that night, a simple pasta she had made because she didn't know what else to do the sound of cutlery against plates felt deafening.
She forced a bite down, her throat dry, and finally whispered, "Do you want more?"
He shook his head. "I'm fine."
That was all.
No conversation. No attempt at lightness. Just an ocean of words neither of them knew how to swim across.
When she lay down in bed that night, she waited for him to join her. Waited for the familiar warmth of his body, the inevitable pull of his arm wrapping around her waist. But when he came in, he stayed on his side, his back turned.
She curled herself into the smallest version she could manage, and told herself not to cry.
And then, the phone rang.
Not hers. His.
Elias muttered something under his breath, fumbling for the device on the nightstand. She turned slightly, only able to see the faint glow lighting his profile.
He answered in a low voice. "Yes, Father."
Anya stilled.
The tone was different. He didn't sound distracted or detached like he had all day. He sounded… cornered. Careful. Every word he spoke was measured, the way someone speaks when they already know they're guilty of something in another person's eyes.
She couldn't hear the words from the other end, only the muffled baritone of a man who carried authority. But the length of the call said enough. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty. Elias's voice rising once, then quickly dropping again. Long silences where he only listened. A sharp, almost frustrated exhale followed by, "It's not like that… No, it's not what you think… Father, please…"
Her stomach sank.
She knew. She didn't need to hear the name to know.
Maddy.
This was about Maddy. About them. About what had happened in this apartment.
When Elias finally hung up, the silence was heavier than before. He didn't turn to her. Didn't explain. Didn't even sigh in relief that it was over. He just sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring down at the floor with the phone still clutched in his hand, knuckles white.
Anya watched his back, rigid and unreadable. Her lips parted, aching to ask — What did he say? What is going to happen now? Are you going to tell me?
But she said nothing.
Because deep down, she already knew the answer.
Whatever had been discussed, whatever plans or warnings had been exchanged, Elias wasn't ready to share it with her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
So she rolled over, pulling the blanket up to her chin, her heart a heavy, throbbing thing.
And for the first time since the moment she met Elias, since that pull had drawn them together so fiercely and completely, she felt the distance like a wall she couldn't climb.
The Second Day
If the first day had been silence, the second was a test of endurance.
Anya tried, she really did. She asked about his work. She made tea and offered him a cup. She even left the window open, thinking maybe fresh air would ease whatever had settled between them.
But Elias wasn't himself.
He gave short replies — "good," "fine," "yeah" — his voice rough, distracted. He seemed caught between wanting to explain and not knowing where to start. And Anya, fragile and hurting, couldn't find the courage to push him.
She overheard him on the phone that afternoon, pacing the hallway. His tone was clipped, sharp. "I said I'll handle it… No, don't bring it up again. It's not her business."
Her. It could only mean Maddy.
Anya's grip on the dish she was drying faltered, and it slipped back into the sink with a soft clatter.
He ended the call quickly, his shoulders tight, his hands shoved into his pockets when he walked past her without meeting her eyes.
Dinner that night was quieter than the first. Neither of them finished their plates. The air felt suffocating, like both of them were drowning but refusing to admit it.
And again, the bed was cold.
...
The Third Morning — Departure
The third morning arrived with a heavy inevitability. Elias was leaving. His trip here had always been temporary, but now the thought of him leaving didn't just sting, it felt like abandonment, even if she knew logically it wasn't.
She woke to the sound of his suitcase wheels against the floor, the muted zip of compartments being closed. She stayed in bed longer than she should have, staring at the ceiling, gathering what little strength she had left.
When she finally emerged, he was at the counter, pouring the last of the coffee into his travel mug. His hair was damp from the shower, his shirt pressed, his watch already strapped on. Ready to go.
"Morning," she said softly, her voice brittle.
He glanced at her, lips twitching like he wanted to smile but couldn't. "Morning."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "You didn't… you didn't come back to yourself these past two days."
His hand froze on the mug. He turned slowly, eyes meeting hers, and for the first time in days, she saw the storm he'd been holding back.
"I didn't know how to," he admitted, voice low. "I didn't know what to say to make it right."
Her throat tightened. "You didn't have to say everything. You just… you could've said something."
"I was afraid," he whispered.
Her brows furrowed. "Afraid of what?"
"That if I said the wrong thing, I'd push you further away."
A humorless laugh escaped her. "You already did that by saying nothing."
The words hung in the air like shards of glass.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," he murmured.
"But you did," she whispered. "You let me stand there with her. You didn't protect me. And then… you went quiet. Like I didn't matter."
His jaw clenched, guilt shadowing his face. "You mattered too much. That's the problem."
"Don't twist it into something noble," she shot back, eyes burning. "You let me feel alone. And I haven't felt like that with you before."
The silence was raw, sharp-edged.
He took a step closer, careful. "Anya…"
But she shook her head, stepping back. "Don't. Not now. If you couldn't be there for me then, don't try to be now just because you're leaving."
His chest rose and fell, every breath weighted. "I don't know how to fix this."
"Maybe you can't," she whispered.
That broke something in him. His hand curled into a fist, his teeth gritted. He wanted to fight, to argue, to promise — but words felt useless now.
Instead, he placed the mug down, voice low. "You should move into my place while I'm gone. No one stays there, and you wouldn't have to worry about rent. It'd be easier."
Her lips parted. For a moment, she saw the practicality in it, the safety. But the hollowness inside her swelled, and she shook her head. "No, Elias. That's not what I need."
His shoulders dropped, a faint flinch flickering across his face before he covered it.
"I'll call you when I reach," he said finally, suitcase handle in hand.
She didn't reply.
At the door, he paused, looking back one last time. His eyes carried everything he hadn't said — apology, regret, longing, fear.
But the words stayed locked between them.
And then he was gone.
After
The door clicked shut, and the silence roared back into the apartment.
Anya sank into the nearest chair, burying her face in her hands. She didn't cry at first. There were no tears, only numbness, a hollow ache where her chest should have been.
Two days without his touch had been hard enough. But now? The distance stretched into something larger, something unknown.
She whispered into the empty room, voice barely audible.
"Why didn't you just hold me?"
The only answer was the ticking of the clock.