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The apartment had never felt so cold.
The echoes of laughter that once filled the rooms were gone, replaced by the heavy quiet of two hearts growing further apart. The air itself felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something — anything — to break the silence.
Colleen lay in bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. She could hear the hum of the air conditioner, the faint traffic below, and the soft creak of the couch in the living room.
Andrei was out there.
He’d been sleeping there for three nights now. No fights. No shouting matches. Just silence. Cold, cutting silence.
She closed her eyes, trying to chase sleep. Instead, memories came flooding in.
Four Years Ago
The bookstore smelled like rain and paper.
Colleen was crouched down in the poetry section, searching for a dog-eared Pablo Neruda collection she’d seen weeks before. Her hair was messy from the wind, and her lips were muttering titles softly.
“You’re blocking Rupi Kaur’s brilliance,” a voice teased behind her.
She turned — and there he was.
Wearing a gray hoodie and holding a coffee cup, Andrei smiled like he already knew her name.
Colleen narrowed her eyes playfully. “Maybe I’m saving you from a heartbreak.”
He grinned. “Then maybe I owe you a coffee.”
They spent hours after that talking. About Bukowski, about music, about how he hated bitter coffee but drank it anyway like punishment. He made her laugh — really laugh — the kind that comes from the stomach and touches the soul.
For the first time, she felt like someone saw her.
Now
Colleen pressed her lips together, wiping away the tears that slipped past her closed lids.
How did something so whole become so fractured?
She sat up and tiptoed toward the living room.
There he was — curled on the couch, blanket tossed aside, his face slack in the soft blue light from the TV. Her heart twisted.
He looked tired.
So tired.
Maybe just as broken as she felt.
But neither of them spoke.
Not tonight.
Not yet.
Instead, she walked back to the bedroom, the silent walls swallowing her whole.
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