Althea once believed that love was all laughter, late-night talks, and promises that felt like they could last forever. That was what it had been like at the start with Ethan — their world was full of inside jokes, stolen kisses, and silly arguments that always ended in smiles.
But lately, it was different.
The laughter had thinned. The talks had shortened. The promises? They still existed, but they felt heavy now, weighed down by exhaustion neither of them wanted to admit.
It started with the silences.
They crept in slowly — first between texts, then between calls, and now even in person.
Althea sat cross-legged on her bed one Tuesday night, her textbooks scattered around her. But instead of studying, she stared at her phone. Ethan hadn't messaged her all day. Normally, he'd send at least a "Good morning" or "Don't skip lunch," even on his busiest days.
But today, nothing.
She chewed her lip, finally typing:
Althea: "Hey. Busy?"
The bubbles appeared for a moment, then vanished.
Finally, his reply came:
Ethan: "Yeah. Just got home. Tired."
That was it.
No I miss you. No How was your day? Just tired.
Althea stared at the screen, her chest aching. She wanted to understand — she did understand. Ethan was juggling school and a part-time job, barely sleeping, barely eating. But still… wasn't she worth a few minutes?
Her fingers moved quickly, almost desperately.
Althea: "Do you want to call? Even for a little bit?"
The reply came slower this time.
Ethan: "Can't. Have to wake up early tomorrow."
Althea dropped her phone beside her, burying her face in her pillow. It wasn't anger she felt — not yet. It was loneliness. The kind that crept into her bones and whispered, You're losing him.
The next day, she finally saw him after class.
Ethan was leaning against the library wall, scrolling on his phone, his shoulders slouched under the weight of his bag. His hair was messy, his eyes ringed with exhaustion.
"Hey," she greeted softly.
He looked up, his face softening into a tired smile. "Hey." He leaned down to kiss her cheek, but it was quick, distracted.
Althea forced a smile back. "How was your exam?"
"Okay, I guess." He shrugged. "Didn't study enough."
"You always say that, then you end up passing anyway." She nudged him lightly, hoping for a laugh.
But Ethan only gave a faint smile and said nothing.
The silence stretched as they walked toward the bus stop. Not the comfortable kind, the kind they used to share when they were happy just being beside each other. This silence was heavy, filled with things left unsaid.
Later that evening, they sat across from each other in a café near Ethan's dorm. The small table between them felt wider than ever.
Althea stirred her iced coffee, the clinking of ice cubes the only sound for a while. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you ever feel like… we don't talk anymore?"
Ethan glanced up from his food, his brows knitting. "What do you mean? We're talking now."
She sighed, her heart squeezing. "No, I mean really talk. Like before. About dreams, or plans, or how we feel. Lately it's always just… 'I'm tired' or 'I'm busy.'"
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "Althea, I am tired. I am busy. What do you want me to do, pretend I'm not?"
Her throat tightened. "That's not what I'm asking. I just miss you. Even when I'm with you, it feels like you're far away."
Ethan's expression softened for a moment, guilt flickering in his eyes, but it was quickly buried under the weariness that clung to him like a second skin.
"I'm doing the best I can," he said quietly. "Isn't that enough?"
Althea opened her mouth, but the words tangled on her tongue. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to say of course. But instead, silence fell between them again, heavier than before.
The weeks that followed blurred together.
They still met when they could, but their laughter sounded different — forced, stretched thin. The inside jokes they used to share slipped into the background. Their conversations became short, almost mechanical.
Althea would lie awake at night staring at the polaroids from their park date. Those captured smiles felt like a lifetime ago. Now, whenever her phone buzzed, it was more likely to be Ethan canceling plans than asking to see her.
One night, her phone lit up with a message.
Ethan: "Sorry. Can't make it tonight. Extra shift."
She stared at the screen until her eyes blurred. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw her phone across the room. But instead, she set it down gently and whispered to herself, "When did we stop being us?"
The first real fight happened on a rainy evening.
Althea had waited outside Ethan's workplace for over an hour, clutching an umbrella as the rain poured around her. She hadn't told him she was coming; she wanted it to be a surprise. She wanted to walk him home, to steal even just fifteen minutes with him.
When Ethan finally stepped out, his eyes widened. "Althea? What are you doing here?"
She smiled, though her fingers trembled on the umbrella handle. "I thought I'd wait for you. Maybe we could walk together? It's been days since we—"
"Althea…" His voice cracked with exhaustion. "I just want to crash right now. I'm dead tired."
Her smile faltered. "I know, but… I miss you. Can't we just… walk a little?"
Ethan rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. "Why didn't you tell me? You could've been resting instead of standing here in the rain."
"Because if I told you, you'd say no."
He hesitated. His shoulders slumped. "You're right. I would've. But not because I don't want to see you. I just… don't have the energy right now."
Althea's chest tightened. "Do you even want to see me anymore? Because it feels like I'm the only one fighting for us."
Ethan's face shifted, guilt flashing there. He stepped closer, brushing his fingers against her damp sleeve. "Don't say that. Of course I want to see you. I just…" He exhaled shakily. "I'm tired, Althea. Not of you. Just… of everything."
Her tears burned. She wanted to believe him. She did believe him. But the ache inside her wouldn't let go. "Then let me be part of 'everything.' Don't shut me out."
The rain filled the silence that followed.
Finally, Ethan whispered, "I'll try." He gave her hand a quick squeeze before pulling away. "Just… give me time, okay?"
She swallowed hard and nodded. "Okay."
They walked to the bus stop side by side, but the space between them felt wider than ever.
That night, Althea lay in bed staring at the ceiling. She thought about his words — I'll try.
She clung to them like a lifeline, even as doubt crept in.
Because deep down, she wondered: What if trying isn't enough?