Ava's Point of View
I learned very early on that silence could be louder than words.
It didn't slam doors or raise its voice. It didn't accuse or demand explanations. It simply existed—settling into corners, filling spaces that used to be warm, wrapping itself around familiar routines until they no longer felt familiar at all.
That was what it felt like with Dylan.
He was still there. Still attentive in all the ways that mattered on the surface. He made sure I ate. Walked me to the car when it got late. Checked in on me with a quiet, steady consistency that never faltered.
And yet… there was a distance.
Not the kind born of anger or resentment, but the kind that felt deliberate. Measured. Like he was holding something back with both hands, afraid that if he loosened his grip, everything would spill out.
