That morning, Elara stood for a long time in front of the guest room door with a breakfast tray in her hands. Her heart pounded, as if it would leap out of her chest. After taking a deep breath, she finally knocked softly on the door.
"Come in," David replied from inside.
Elara opened the door and found David sitting on the edge of the bed, still in his pajamas, his face looking weary. The usually tidy room was now messy—clothes draped over a chair, documents scattered on the small table.
"I thought you might be hungry," Elara said softly as she placed the tray on the table.
David looked up. His eyes were red, as if he hadn't slept all night. "Thank you."
"Are you going to the office this morning?" Elara asked, trying to keep the conversation flowing.
"Yes, soon, I think," David answered while rubbing his temples. "I have a bit of a headache."
Elara quickly poured a cup of warm tea from the pot. "Drink this. I don't want you to get sick." Her hand trembled slightly as she offered the cup.
David took it, and when their fingers touched, a sudden silence fell upon them. A touch that was once ordinary now felt electric—reminding them of the distance that had grown between them.
Elara quickly pulled her hand back. "Sorry," she whispered, looking down.
But before she could leave, David suddenly grabbed her hand. His grip was strong but not rough. "Don't go," he urged, his voice hoarse.
Their eyes met, and for the first time since last night, Elara saw vulnerability in David's eyes—a fear that had been hidden behind his mask of strength.
David slowly pulled Elara down to sit beside him. "I'm tired, El. Tired of all this." His hand rose to Elara's cheek, stroking it gently. "I love you. That never changed."
Elara closed her eyes, savoring the touch she had long missed. "I love you too, David. I..."
But David placed his finger on Elara's lips. "Don't say anything. Let me... let us..."
He leaned down and kissed Elara gently. At first just a light touch, but then it deepened, becoming more passionate. There was a desperation in that kiss—an attempt to rediscover what was almost lost.
Without words, David laid Elara down on the bed. Their hands explored each other, unbuttoning clothes, removing garments with hurried movements. When their skin touched, Elara cried—tears filled with guilt, regret, and longing.
"Forgive me," she sobbed between kisses. "I'm so sorry."
David didn't answer. He just held Elara tighter, as if afraid of losing her again. In this intimacy that was both passionate and bitter, they tried to heal their wounds in the most primitive way—through touch, kisses, and embraces.
But behind every movement hung a question: Was this a new beginning? Or just a delayed farewell?