Time did not soften the ache. It clarified it.
Weeks passed, then months. Elara's life settled back into familiar patterns—early mornings, long meetings, quiet evenings that once felt comforting. Now they felt hollow. She told herself this was strength. Independence had always been her refuge. But strength, she learned, could also be avoidance wearing a respectable mask.
She thought of Adrian in small, unexpected moments. When a problem at work reminded her of his perspective. When she passed a café they used to argue outside of during lunch breaks. When silence stretched too long.
Jealousy resurfaced in subtler forms. Not of another woman, but of the life Adrian might be building without her. The idea unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. It forced her to confront a truth she had spent years denying—that wanting someone did not make her weak. Refusing to acknowledge it did.
Across the ocean, Adrian struggled with a similar reckoning. London was familiar, efficient, impressive. It was everything he thought he wanted. Yet every achievement felt strangely incomplete. He realized he had mistaken control for safety, distance for protection.
Late one night, unable to sleep, he reread old emails from Elara—brief, thoughtful exchanges that carried more meaning than they ever acknowledged at the time. He recognized his mistake clearly now. Love was not something you waited to feel certain about. It was something you chose despite uncertainty.
For the first time, he stopped waiting.