It started with a message.
Not a sweet one. Not a meme. Just a cold, clipped reply from Kael.
> "I'm busy. Stop overthinking."
Elia stared at the screen, her chest tightening. She hadn't even asked for much. Just a simple, "Are you okay?" after days of silence. But his words felt sharp. Like a door slamming shut.
She waited. Maybe he'd follow up. Maybe he'd say sorry.
He didn't.
So she typed back.
> "I'm not overthinking. I'm just trying to understand why you're pushing me away."
He replied instantly.
> "Not everything's about you, Elia."
That was the crack.
She called him. He picked up.
His voice was flat. Tired.
Hers was shaking.
"Why are you acting like I'm a burden?" she asked.
"I'm not," he said. "I just have other things going on."
"Then say that. Don't make me feel like I'm annoying you."
"You're not annoying," he snapped. "You're just… too much sometimes."
Silence.
Elia felt her throat tighten.
Too much.
That's what people say when they're done loving you.
She tried to breathe. "You used to say I was your peace."
Kael sighed. "That was before everything got complicated."
"Complicated?" Her voice cracked. "You mean before you stopped trying?"
He didn't answer.
She kept going. "Before you started posting her? Before you stopped replying? Before you made me feel like I was begging for crumbs?"
Kael's voice rose. "I didn't ask you to wait for me!"
"No," she whispered. "But you made me believe you would."
The silence after that was deafening.
They didn't yell.
They didn't curse.
But the words they said cut deeper than any scream.
Kael finally said, "I think we need space."
Elia nodded, even though he couldn't see her.
"Space," she repeated. "You mean distance."
"I mean time."
"You mean goodbye."
He didn't correct her.
She hung up first.
Not out of anger.
Out of heartbreak.
She sat on her bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every word.
Too much.
Complicated.
Space.
Words that couldn't be taken back.
She didn't cry right away.
She just felt hollow.
Like someone had scooped out the part of her that used to believe in them.
That night, she deleted his contact.
Not because she stopped caring.
But because she couldn't keep reaching for someone who kept pulling away.
And just like that, the fight became the fracture.
The moment they stopped being almost.
The moment they became memory.