The rain had long stopped by the time Althea reached her room that night, but its echo still clung to her. She sat by the window, knees pulled close, watching droplets slide lazily down the glass. Ethan's words replayed in her mind like a broken record.
"I'll try."
She should've been relieved — at least he hadn't said he was giving up. But something about the way he said it, the exhaustion in his voice, made those words sound fragile. Like a promise already on the edge of breaking.
Her phone buzzed.
Mina: "You home? Can I call?"
Althea blinked, surprised. She hadn't told anyone about waiting for Ethan earlier, but somehow, Mina always sensed when something was wrong. She typed back quickly:
"Yeah. Please."
The call came within seconds.
"Alth?" Mina's voice was soft, cautious. "You sound… off."
Althea bit her lip. "I waited for Ethan outside his workplace. I thought it'd be nice, you know? A surprise. But he…" She trailed off, throat tightening. "He just looked so tired. And I felt stupid for even being there."
Mina sighed. "You're not stupid. You miss him. That's normal. But…" She hesitated. "Are you sure you're not the only one doing the holding on here?"
The question stung.
Althea hugged her knees tighter. "He said he'll try."
"Hmm," Mina hummed skeptically. "Trying's good. But trying shouldn't feel like begging."
Althea wanted to argue, but her chest ached too much. Mina wasn't wrong. Still, she couldn't bring herself to think about letting go — not yet.
"I'll wait," she whispered, almost to herself. "I'll wait until it gets better."
Mina's silence lingered on the line, heavy but understanding. "Just… don't lose yourself while waiting, okay?"
The days that followed were a blur of forced normalcy.
Ethan messaged her more often — short updates, a random photo of his lunch, sometimes even a "goodnight" before bed. He was trying. She could see that.
But it still wasn't the same.
One Saturday, Ethan suggested they meet at the library to study. It wasn't the date Althea had been hoping for, but she agreed. At least it was time spent together.
When she arrived, Ethan was already there, head buried in his notes, earphones dangling from his neck. His bag was sprawled across the table, books stacked like walls between them.
"Hey," Althea greeted, sliding into the chair beside him.
He looked up, gave her a tired smile, and leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Hey. Sorry, I already started. Midterms are killing me."
"It's okay," she said, unpacking her own things. She tried to ignore the way his attention immediately dipped back to his notes.
For an hour, they sat side by side in silence. Their pens scratched paper, their highlighters squeaked. Althea kept sneaking glances at him — the way his brows furrowed when he read, how his lips pursed slightly as he scribbled down an answer.
She used to love studying with him. Back then, even silence between them felt comforting. But today, it only reminded her how far they'd drifted.
Finally, she broke it.
"Do you want to grab something to eat later?" she asked, voice tentative.
"Can't. I have another shift after this." He didn't even look up.
Althea swallowed. "Oh. Okay."
He must've sensed the disappointment in her tone because he paused, glanced at her, and added, "But maybe tomorrow? I'll try to free up an hour."
An hour. Out of all the hours in his week, she was only worth one.
She forced a smile. "Sure. Tomorrow."
That night, Mina cornered her again — this time in person. They were sitting on Althea's bed, munching on instant noodles, when Mina suddenly blurted:
"Alth, you can tell me to shut up, but… you don't look happy anymore."
Althea's chopsticks froze mid-air. "What do you mean?"
"You're always waiting. For his text, his call, his time. And when you finally get it, it's like you're… scared it's not enough. Like you're bracing yourself for disappointment."
Althea lowered her gaze. Mina was sharper than people gave her credit for.
"I love him, Mina."
"I know." Mina sighed, pushing her bowl aside. "But love's not supposed to feel like you're running after someone who's always two steps ahead."
Althea clenched her fists on the blanket. "He's trying. He really is."
Mina reached over and squeezed her hand. "Then I hope his 'trying' catches up to your 'waiting.' Because you deserve someone who meets you halfway."
Althea didn't reply. Because deep down, she was scared Mina might be right.
The following week, Ethan and Althea tried again. This time, he actually took her out — just a quick lunch at a diner near campus, but it felt like a small victory.
For a while, it almost felt like before. They laughed about a professor's quirks, teased each other over food, even shared fries like old times.
But the bubble didn't last.
Midway through the meal, Ethan's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, sighed, and quickly typed a reply.
Althea poked at her burger. "Work again?"
"Yeah," he muttered. "They need someone to cover."
"Can't you say no? Just this once?"
He looked at her, brows knitting. "Althea, I need this job. You know that."
She bit her lip. "I know. I just… I miss you. Even when I'm sitting right here with you, I feel like you're somewhere else."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "What do you want me to do? Quit? Stop studying? I'm doing my best, Althea."
Her chest ached. They were back here again — the same loop, the same argument.
"I'm not asking you to quit," she whispered. "I'm just asking you to be with me when you're with me."
The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken words. Finally, Ethan sighed, reaching across the table to take her hand.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I don't want you to feel that way. I'll… I'll try harder."
Althea squeezed his hand back, blinking away the sting in her eyes. "That's all I'm asking."
But as they sat there, hands linked across the table, both of them knew — trying didn't always mean succeeding.
That night, Althea lay awake replaying the day. She clung to his apology, to the warmth of his hand on hers. But beneath it all, an ache lingered.
Because love shouldn't feel this fragile.
And yet, she couldn't let go. Not yet.
Her eyes flicked to the calendar on her desk, the small red heart she had drawn weeks ago staring back at her. Tomorrow. Their anniversary.
A day that once promised flowers, laughter, and stolen kisses in between classes. Now, she wasn't even sure if he'd remember.
Still, she told herself she'd wait — just a little longer.