Distance didn't always mean something was wrong.
Sometimes, it meant both people were learning how to stand on their own again.
Aira felt it the next few days.
Reyhan wasn't pulling away.
He wasn't disappearing.
He was just… giving space.
Not the anxious kind.
The respectful kind.
At first, it made her restless.
Then it made her think.
They didn't walk together every morning anymore.
Didn't text constantly.
But when they spoke, it felt intentional.
"You're quieter lately," Aira said one afternoon as they sat on the steps.
Reyhan smiled faintly.
"I'm learning not to fill silence just because I can."
Aira nodded.
"I'm learning not to read silence as rejection."
That felt important.
They shared a quiet moment, watching students pass.
"Distance scares me," Reyhan admitted.
"But I don't want to confuse closeness with dependency."
Aira looked at him.
"And I don't want to confuse space with abandonment," she replied.
They met each other's eyes.
Neither flinched.
Later that evening, Aira walked home alone again.
This time, she didn't check her phone every few minutes.
She trusted that if Reyhan wanted to reach out—he would.
And he did.
Not immediately.
Not urgently.
Just a simple message before sleep.
Reyhan:
Hope your day was okay.
She smiled and replied honestly.
Aira:
It was. Thank you for giving me room to feel it.
That night, Aira realized something important.
Distance didn't weaken what they had.
It tested whether it was real.
And so far…
It was holding.
RULE #66: Don't confuse distance with goodbye.
Because sometimes space isn't the end—
it's the breath before choosing again.