It started as a small thing.
Ireon had received an offer to perform with a local band for a week in another town. Nothing big, nothing permanent, just a chance to play music the way he wanted.
He told Saelith casually, as if it were a trivial detail.
"I might be gone for a few nights," he said, not meeting her eyes.
"It's just a short thing."
Saelith's chest tightened immediately.
She swallowed, forcing her voice to remain steady.
"That's fine. You should go. You need it."
He studied her face carefully.
"You sound fine."
"I am," she said too quickly. "Go do what you need."
He hesitated, then leaned down and pressed a brief kiss to her temple.
"I'll be back before you miss me too much."
Her stomach twisted.
How could a week feel like a lifetime?
The first night he was gone, Saelith's apartment felt impossibly empty.
The silence was different—sharper, colder. She found herself standing at the window, watching the street for the faintest movement of his car returning.
Hours passed.
She tried to distract herself with homework, chores, cleaning, but every sound, every flash of light outside, reminded her he wasn't there.
She couldn't stop imagining what could go wrong: a car accident, a missed bus, a storm.
Anything that could take him away from me, even for real this time, she thought, gripping her pen so hard her knuckles ached.
Meanwhile, Ireon was restless in the other town. The music thrilled him, yet every note was laced with guilt.
He wanted to call her, to check in constantly, but he remembered her words about independence, about letting him breathe.
So he didn't call as often as he wanted.
And every night, as he lay in a small, unfamiliar bed, he thought of her.
He imagined her curled up on their couch, journal open, pen scratching as she wrote without him.
The distance made him ache, though he refused to admit it to anyone—not even himself.
Saelith counted the days in small ways.
A single coffee cup she hadn't cleaned.
A shoe left by the door that didn't belong to anyone else.
The clock ticking slower than usual.
By the third night, she could no longer pretend she wasn't affected.
Her hands shook as she picked up her phone.
She almost called him. Almost—but she didn't.
Instead, she wrote a letter, careful and precise:
Ireon,
I miss you more than I can say, though I will not call. I will wait until you return, because waiting is all I can do for now.
Saelith
She left it on the table where he would see it first when he came back.
The day he returned, the apartment smelled faintly of rain and burnt coffee.
Saelith was at the window when he stepped inside, boots muddy, guitar case slung over his shoulder.
He froze. "You're here," he said, voice unsteady.
"I didn't leave," she replied softly.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, almost instinctively, he dropped his bag and wrapped her in his arms.
She stiffened for a second, then leaned into him.
"I missed you," he whispered.
"I know," she said. And in that single word, so simple and restrained, he understood the weight of it.
That night, lying on the roof once more, rain beginning to fall gently around them, they spoke quietly.
"I didn't realize," Ireon said, voice low, "how much being away from you would hurt."
"You can't always be here," Saelith replied. "I understand that. But knowing you want to be here…" She hesitated, fingers brushing his. "It's everything."
He squeezed her hand gently, a silent promise.
"I want to be here. Always."
And in that moment, it almost felt like everything would be okay.
But they both knew, deep down, that healing and living didn't always follow promises. That love could hurt simply by existing, and that life often demanded choices neither of them were ready to make.
Ireon:
Being away was supposed to be freedom.
Instead, it reminded me that I cannot breathe without her.
But I won't admit it. Not yet. Because love is fragile, and we've both survived too much to break it carelessly.
Saelith:
I knew leaving was necessary for him.
I knew it would hurt me.
And yet, when he walked back through that door, I realized… waiting for someone you love is also a kind of survival.