Ellie
It had been nearly two months since that final call—the one that echoed in Ellie's mind like a haunting nightmare. She never deleted the messages. They sat there, untouched, in her inbox like a museum of memories. But she no longer reread them every night. That was progress. Healing, even.
Life had changed. Or rather, she had changed.
She enrolled in a short course in digital marketing during vacation, something she'd been putting off. She started journaling too—nothing fancy, just thoughts, fragments of moments, songs that reminded her of him. She read more, cooked occasionally with Ashley, and even learned how to meditate—though she usually just ended up crying in the middle of it.
But still, she moved. She grew.
One afternoon, while reorganizing her desk, she found the tiny notebook where she and Ady had once planned a future. Just silly things: what their apartment might look like, which coffee shops they'd visit, what movies they'd rewatch together. She smiled at it for a moment, her thumb brushing over his handwriting.
"I hope you're doing well," she whispered, setting it back in the drawer.
She didn't cry.
Not this time.
Ady
Ady was always tired now. But it wasn't the same kind of tiredness from before—the one that came from emotional confusion and longing. This was the tiredness of work, responsibility, growth.
His part-time job had extended into more hours, and he'd started a self-paced course in business communication online. In his spare time, he practiced chess—watching tutorials, playing online tournaments—and finally started taking his guitar practice seriously. No more lazy strumming. Real progress.
He had cut down on social media. Every now and then, he'd scroll and catch glimpses of Ellie—her new profile picture, a quote on her story. He never reacted. Never replied.
But she was there. Still. Like a quiet hum in the background of his life.
He started writing music too. Not songs he'd show anyone. Just lines. Emotions. Memories. Sometimes, he'd reread them and realize they were all about her.
"I hope you're proud of me," he mumbled once while strumming in the dark.
He had meant it.
Ellie
One night, Ken invited the group out for dinner. Ashley, always excited, insisted Ellie come along.
"You need to breathe, Ellie," she said, pulling at her arm. "You've been stuck in your thoughts too long."
They met up at a new rooftop café downtown. The wind was soft, and the sky painted itself in fading pinks and sleepy blues. Ellie looked out over the city, feeling a small, strange sense of peace.
She laughed. She told stories. She even smiled without forcing it.
Ashley leaned in. "You're getting better, El. It shows."
Ellie nodded. "I'm trying."
She didn't mention how Ady's voice still echoed in her head sometimes when the world got quiet. She didn't mention how she still checked the time in the evening, wondering if he was home, if he was eating, if he was happy.
Because it wasn't about obsession anymore.
It was love. Quiet, distant, enduring love.
And she was learning to live with it.
Ady
Ady got a message from one of his classmates about a school event for incoming third-years. He had been chosen to speak about student leadership and part-time work balance. He almost declined, but something in him said yes.
The day of the event, he stood in front of a packed room, holding a microphone with sweaty palms.
"I didn't come from a wealthy family. I work part-time to help pay for my studies. I'm trying to get better—at school, at life. And it's not easy," he said, his voice steady. "But I learned that sometimes, the hardest parts of life are the ones that shape you most."
He paused.
"There was a time I lost someone important because I couldn't balance everything. I thought I could do it all alone. I was wrong."
The silence that followed was full and respectful.
He finished, and the room clapped.
Later that night, he sat on his bed and typed a note in his phone:
You helped me become this version of myself. Thank you, Ellie.
He didn't send it. He just saved it.
Ellie
Ellie's marketing course had a final project—a social campaign pitch. She poured her heart into it. Her presentation was about meaningful connections in the digital age.
"Sometimes the best connections aren't measured in physical distance, but in emotional depth," she said in her presentation. "People fall in love without touching. People heal from goodbyes they never wanted to say."
Her professor was impressed. Her classmates clapped. Ashley hugged her after.
"You were amazing!"
Ellie just smiled, holding back tears.
Later, she sat alone in her room, reading through an old journal entry:
He made me feel like maybe I was worth something. That love doesn't always have to be loud to be real.
Time Passed
Weeks turned into a month and a half. Ellie started preparing for the upcoming school year. Ady received news he'd been accepted for an on-campus tutoring job.
They didn't talk. Didn't reach out.
But they thought of each other—on quiet walks, during heavy rains, while passing a song they once shared.
They grew in parallel lines, never intersecting.
Ellie's Realization
One rainy afternoon, Ellie sat by the window of her room, watching the droplets race each other down the glass. Ashley had gone home for the weekend. The silence was loud.
She pulled out her journal.
"I miss him," she wrote. "But I know why I let go. And maybe… it was never really about not being strong enough. Maybe it was about timing. Maybe I just needed to become someone who can love better. Freer."
She looked out again and smiled faintly.
"I will love again. And maybe… someday, that love will still be him."
Ady's Realization
That same evening, Ady was on his way home from work, drenched slightly from the drizzle, earphones playing their old shared playlist.
One song came on—their favorite. It hit him like a wave.
He stopped walking and stared at the night sky.
"I wasn't ready to love her right," he admitted out loud.
He shook his head and smiled, bitterly but sincerely.
"But I will be. One day. When I can give without breaking, when I can love without needing to be saved."
He walked on, heart just a little lighter.
They hadn't met again.
But something in them shifted.
And that was enough for now.