They didn't talk much that week. But somehow, they didn't feel entirely apart either. It was strange—how someone could feel both far and close at the same time. Elara found herself rereading their old messages, not because she didn't know what they said, but because they reminded her of who they had been.
On a quiet Wednesday evening, she typed and erased the same message three times before finally sending: "Do you still love me the way you used to?"
The reply came five minutes later.
"Yes. Just been overwhelmed. It's not you."
She stared at the screen. Short. Honest. But missing something she couldn't name.
That Saturday, they met up again. No flowers. No gifts. Just them. He held her hand a little tighter than usual.
"I miss us," she whispered.
"We're still us," Zeon said. "Just… with more weight now."
They sat in silence. For once, it wasn't uncomfortable. It was a silence that understood.
They spent that afternoon walking the long way around town, past the shops they once joked in, past the corner where they first kissed.
"Do you remember this place?" he asked, stopping in front of a bench.
She nodded. "Yeah. You were nervous. You kept adjusting your jacket."
He laughed. "Because you looked too good. I didn't know how to act."
It wasn't a grand date. It wasn't dramatic. But it was them trying.
That night, Zeon video called her. Just to say goodnight. The camera shook as he lay down on his bed.
"I know I've been quiet," he admitted. "I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be perfect," Elara said. "I just want to feel like I still matter."
"You do," he replied. "Even when I forget to show it."
A pause. Then he added, "I love you, Elara."
She smiled, small but real. "I love you too."
Moments like that didn't fix everything—but they stitched the cracks.
Elara wrote in her journal that night: Love doesn't need to be loud. Sometimes it just needs to show up.
And that week, it did.
---
The following Sunday, Elara found herself missing him more than usual. Not the version of him that answered texts late or forgot to ask how she was doing—but the boy she met outside that mall. The boy who listened closely and laughed like she was the only one in the world.
She sent a voice note instead of a message. "Hey... I know things haven't been perfect lately, but I still believe in us. Just needed you to hear my voice."
His reply came hours later, but it was also a voice note. "I needed that. I've been in my own head. Doesn't mean I've stopped caring. You mean more than I ever say."
Later that evening, he showed up at her gate unannounced. With a chocolate bar, a hoodie she once said she liked, and a sheepish grin.
"I know it's not flowers," he said, "but I remembered you said chocolate makes you feel better."
"It does," she replied, smiling through the tightness in her chest. "Thank you."
They sat on the front steps of her house, just talking. For once, no screens, no distractions. Just them, outside, beneath the soft orange sky.
"You ever get scared?" she asked.
"All the time," he replied. "I just try not to show it."
"What scares you?"
"Losing you," he admitted. "Messing this up."
Her heart softened. "You haven't lost me yet."
He turned to her. "And I don't want to. I don't want to keep hurting you either."
"Then don't," she whispered.
And that night, for the first time in weeks, she slept peacefully.
---
At school, Elara began to smile more again. Not the fake smiles, but the kind that came from feeling held, even from afar. She knew things weren't perfect, but they were working through it. Piece by piece. Effort by effort.
Zeon started calling her before work just to say, "Have a good day." It was a small thing—but it meant everything.
She made him a scrapbook of their memories so far—photos, ticket stubs, even a doodle of their inside jokes.
When she gave it to him, he flipped through it slowly, pausing at each page.
"You kept all this?" he asked.
"Every bit," she said. "Because even the hard parts matter."
He pulled her into a hug. "I don't deserve you."
"Maybe not," she teased, "but you have me anyway."
They laughed.
And just like that, they started again.
Because love, real love, isn't always about perfect beginnings or fairy tale middles. Sometimes it's about messy middles, quiet forgiveness, and choosing the same person even when it's hard.
And as they held hands under that fading sun, Elara knew one thing:
It was still them—even when it didn't feel like it.