The warmth of their second chance lasted longer than Elara expected. For a while, everything felt right. Like the past had finally loosened its grip.
But love, even in its second bloom, comes with shadows.
They started having little disagreements again—not full-blown arguments, but enough to make Elara wonder. Enough to make her heart feel like it was tiptoeing.
One afternoon, while they were walking hand in hand through town, she hesitated before asking, "You've been quiet lately. Is everything okay?"
Zeon squeezed her hand. "I'm just tired. Work's been hectic."
She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. She wanted to believe him. She really did.
Later that night, they were on a call. The line was quiet. Too quiet.
"You're not saying much," Elara finally said.
"I don't want to fight," he replied.
"Who said anything about fighting?" Her voice was soft, unsure. "I just want to talk to you."
"I know," he whispered. "Sometimes I just don't know how to talk about what's going on in my head."
It was honest. Raw. And still… distant.
They changed the topic, started joking again, but the space between them didn't fully close.
Days passed like that—some filled with love and sweetness, others weighed down by unspoken things.
One Saturday, they met up again. Sat outside his house. The weather was moody, cloudy with a soft wind.
Elara looked at him. "Do you still see a future with me?"
He glanced at her, startled. "Where's that coming from?"
"You used to talk about the future a lot," she said. "Lately, it's just… today."
Zeon sighed, leaning back. "I don't want to promise things I'm still figuring out. But that doesn't mean I don't love you."
She didn't answer. Just nodded, looking at her hands.
"Hey," he said, reaching out. "Elara, look at me."
She met his gaze.
"I love you," he said. "Even when I'm quiet. Even when I'm off. I'm just trying to find my own balance. Don't take my silence as absence."
She blinked back a tear. "I just need to feel you still want this. Still want me."
"I do," he said. "More than you know."
And just like that, the space shrunk—just a little.
Not gone. But smaller.
That night, after she got home, Elara wrote in her journal: Love isn't always loud. Sometimes it whispers. And you have to choose to lean in close enough to hear it.
A few days later, they went for a walk again. No destination—just streets, wind, and each other.
"I've been thinking," Elara said. "Maybe we should do something different. Something we've never done together."
"Like what?" Zeon asked, looking curious.
"I don't know. A short trip? A picnic? Just something... ours."
He smiled. "Yeah? You plan it. I'll follow."
She chuckled. "You're lazy."
"No, I just trust your taste," he teased.
And for a moment, they felt young again. Light.
The next Saturday, she packed sandwiches, a blanket, and juice, and took him to the park she used to visit with her cousin as a child.
They laughed under the shade of the trees. Talked about silly things. He chased her around like they were five.
When they finally sat down to eat, Zeon looked at her and said, "You look at peace here."
"I am," she replied. "Because I feel seen again."
And that was the thing with them.
They fought. They distanced. But they always found a way back.
Sometimes through silence. Sometimes through a touch. And sometimes—like this—through nothing more than a shared sandwich and a safe space to be.