The morning broke too soon.
April lay awake in Brandy's arms, listening to the rhythm of his breathing, afraid to close her eyes. The letter sat folded on the nightstand, a quiet witness to the fragile truce they had forged the night before. For the first time in weeks, she had felt peace, wrapped in the shelter of him. And yet, beneath that peace, a storm brewed.
She had to leave.
The decision had been made before fate had pushed them back together. An opportunity abroad—months in the making—was waiting. Contracts signed. Promises given. If she stayed, she would be breaking her own word, sabotaging her own dream.
She couldn't undo that.
But how could she tell him?
She turned slightly, studying the curve of his jaw in the morning light. Even in sleep, he looked weary, as though carrying the weight of their love had worn him thin. Her chest ached with the knowledge that she was about to add more weight still.
The Confession
When Brandy stirred awake, April's silence spoke before she did.
"What is it?" he murmured, brushing a thumb across her cheek.
Her lips trembled. "Brandy… I have to go."
The words hung between them like shards of glass.
His hand stilled. "Go?"
She swallowed. "My flight is tonight. I—I didn't know how to tell you. I couldn't find the right moment."
The color drained from his face. He sat up slowly, staring at her as though she had just vanished before his eyes. "Tonight?"
She nodded, tears threatening. "It's something I committed to before… before us. Before we tried again. I can't back out now."
Brandy pushed his hands through his hair, rising from the bed and pacing the small room. His breath came sharp, uneven. "So that's it? One night of honesty, and then you leave?"
"It's not like that." She rose too, reaching for him. "Brandy, this isn't goodbye. I just—"
"Yes, it is." His voice cracked. He turned, eyes blazing with hurt. "A flight tonight, April. You don't come back from that. You think you will, but you won't. Distance eats at people. At us. Don't you see? This is exactly what I was afraid of."
April's tears fell freely now. "I'm not walking away from you. I just… I can't abandon who I am. And you wouldn't want me to."
The silence between them stretched thin, a wire ready to snap.
Then Brandy closed the space in two steps, gripping her shoulders, his forehead pressed against hers. "Then don't say goodbye," he whispered, his voice raw. "If you have to go, fine. But don't you dare say goodbye to me."
Her breath caught. The plea broke her heart even more than the anger had.
The Airport
The hours blurred into a haze of unspoken words. April packed quietly, folding clothes with trembling hands, while Brandy sat at the edge of the bed, watching her like a man memorizing every movement before it disappeared.
Neither spoke much during the drive. The city rolled past in a blur of gray and gold, the hum of the engine loud in the heavy silence.
When they reached the airport, the noise of the crowd hit them like a wave. Families reunited, lovers parted, friends embraced. Overhead, announcements crackled, indifferent to the heartbreak scattered across the terminals.
April clutched her ticket in one hand, her other entwined tightly with Brandy's. They walked side by side, not speaking, afraid that words might shatter what little strength remained.
At the departure gate, the world seemed to shrink.
"This is it," April whispered, her throat tight.
Brandy's grip tightened around her hand, desperate, refusing to let go. "No. This isn't it." His voice shook. "It can't be."
Her eyes brimmed with tears. "Brandy…"
"Don't." He cupped her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were fierce, burning with the weight of everything he hadn't said. "Don't say goodbye to me. Promise me."
April's lips trembled. She wanted to tell him she'd be back soon, that this was only temporary, that love could stretch across oceans. But the words tasted false. Neither of them could know what time and distance would do.
So instead, she whispered, "I promise."
Brandy's mouth found hers, a kiss that was both an ending and a beginning, fierce and tender, desperate and trembling. People moved around them, but the world had narrowed to two hearts beating wildly against the threat of parting.
When they pulled away, April pressed the letter—his letter—back into his hand. "Keep this safe," she said softly. "It gave me strength when I needed it most. Let it do the same for you."
He shook his head, voice breaking. "I wrote it for you."
"And now it belongs to both of us."
The announcement echoed overhead. Her flight was boarding.
April's tears blurred everything as she forced herself to step back. Brandy stood rooted to the spot, his hand still outstretched, his eyes pleading silently with her.
"Don't say goodbye," he whispered again, broken.
She pressed a hand to her heart. "Then I'll just say—I'll miss you."
And with that, April turned, walking toward the gate as though every step shattered something inside her.
Brandy stood there long after she was gone, the envelope clutched tight in his fist, his chest hollow and burning.
The airport bustled on, indifferent. But for him, the world had stilled, suspended on the words she had not said.