Two weeks had passed since I walked away from Tristan in the meeting room, and it felt like a lifetime. In those two weeks, I had buried myself in work, letting the deadlines and projects fill the silence that hung between Tristan and me.
And yet, it didn’t feel like I was pretending or running away. I wasn’t faking anything. I had found a rhythm, one that didn’t involve him. It was like Tristan’s absence, his silence, wasn’t even a shadow over my day-to-day life anymore. I was thriving, actually. I was nailing every presentation, impressing the higher-ups, and moving forward with projects that were getting me noticed. It was as if I had finally shed the weight of the uncertainty that Tristan had brought into my life.
I wasn’t miserable. I wasn’t distracted by the question of what he was doing or what he was thinking. I had finally started taking control of my life again.
But at the same time, his absence was deafening. I didn’t need him for my success at work. I had learned that much. But emotionally? He had become this hole in my life, a space that, no matter how hard I tried to fill it with everything else, I couldn’t ignore.
And I was still waiting. Waiting for him to come to me. I couldn’t keep pushing him, not when I had already done everything I could. I had been patient with him, giving him space, even when it hurt. But if he wanted this, he needed to make the first move. I couldn’t force him. I wouldn’t.
I noticed him at work—more than I wanted to admit. He had been avoiding me just as much as I had been avoiding him. The coldness was unbearable, but I could see through his facade. His usual confidence had been replaced by something else, something darker. I wasn’t sure if it was guilt or frustration, but there was a distance in his eyes whenever they met mine.
Every time I saw him, I wanted to reach out, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t the one who had shut him out. I wasn’t the one who needed to change. I couldn’t keep chasing after him if he wasn’t ready to meet me halfway.
It wasn’t until he texted me that I realized just how much we were both avoiding the inevitable.
The first text came in the middle of a Friday afternoon, simple, unassuming. Just a few words, but the weight of them felt heavier than anything else.
“Do you miss me?”
I stared at the screen, my fingers hovering over my phone, unsure of what to do. My heart said to respond, to tell him what I needed, but my mind knew that I needed more than just his words. I needed something real. Something deeper than these half-hearted questions. I didn’t reply. Not immediately. He followed up an hour later, almost as if he couldn’t stand the silence.
“Do you hate me now?”
I frowned at the message. He couldn’t just ask me that. Not after everything. He wanted me to say something, anything, to make him feel better. But he wasn’t offering anything in return. He wasn’t opening up to me. It was the same old Tristan—asking about my feelings without letting me into his. I could feel the frustration build in my chest.
I didn’t reply again. I left the message there, unanswered.
Then another one came. “Have you been taking care of yourself? You haven’t been answering me.” I looked at the phone, my fingers curling into my palm as I gripped it tightly.
It wasn’t about the words anymore. It was about the silence, the empty space between us. All he wanted to know was if I still cared, if I still had feelings for him. But he wasn’t asking the right questions. He wasn’t opening up. He wasn’t talking about what was really bothering him. And I needed that. I needed him to give me something more than these surface-level texts.
I set my phone down. I wanted to respond. I wanted to tell him everything I was feeling, but I knew I couldn’t. Not like this. Not when he was still so closed off, so unwilling to let me in.
***
The next day, Lucas pulled me aside as we were grabbing coffee, his face filled with concern.
“Mia,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “Is everything okay with you and Tristan? I can’t help but notice... there’s been this tension lately. I mean, I know you guys have had your moments, but it’s different now. You’re not talking like you used to, and he... he’s not even looking at you the same way anymore.”
I tried to hide the shock that flitted across my face, but Lucas had always been observant. He had always been the kind of person who could read between the lines. He knew something was off. And I could tell he wanted to help. But I wasn’t ready to tell him everything. Not yet. Not with the way things were with Tristan.
“I don’t know, Lucas,” I said with a sigh, trying to keep the frustration from creeping into my voice. “I really don’t. Things have just... changed. And I don’t know what to do about it.”
Lucas looked at me, his brow furrowed with concern. “You know you can talk to me, right? I’m here if you need someone to listen.”
I smiled at him, grateful for his kindness, but the words caught in my throat. What was I supposed to say? How could I explain that I was stuck in this emotional limbo with Tristan—waiting for him to make a decision, but unsure of where we were headed? I didn’t have the answers.
“I know,” I said softly. “I just... I don’t know what I want right now. I need time. We both need time.”
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Tristan and I barely spoke. Whenever our eyes met, there was this invisible barrier between us, something I couldn’t break through, no matter how hard I tried. I wanted him to come to me. I wanted him to see that I wasn’t going to leave him behind. But I couldn’t force it.
Later that evening, I found myself staring at my phone again, but this time I couldn’t bring myself to check the messages he’d sent. He hadn’t asked for anything real—anything that would give me a clue about how he was feeling. So why should I keep responding to him? I wanted him to come to me, to finally break down those walls, but I didn’t think he was ready.