As time passed, the spark that once defined our relationship began to dim.We had lived through so many firsts — passion, discovery, laughter, and shared dreams — but real life has a way of demanding attention.Love, no matter how strong, doesn't stay effortless forever.
When I started college, majoring in Computer Networks, my days quickly filled up with classes, projects, and long hours of study.At first, she supported me completely. She would stay up late while I worked, bringing me coffee, joking about how she felt like my personal assistant.But over time, the warmth between us started to cool.
I came home exhausted, mentally drained, too tired for anything beyond a quick meal and a few hours of sleep.We stopped going out together. The small rituals that used to connect us — weekend walks, shared dinners, little surprises — slowly disappeared under the weight of routine.
She began to feel lonely, though she didn't say it at first.Then one night, she asked softly, "Can I go out with my friends this weekend?"I nodded without hesitation. "Of course. You deserve to have fun."
It was an innocent request, but that night became a symbol of how far apart we had drifted.When she came home, I was half-asleep, and for a brief moment, it felt like the closeness between us flickered again — a reminder of what used to be.
But the truth was harder.The next weeks turned into months of repetition — work, study, sleep.Arguments became more frequent. Not about big things, but about everything and nothing — the kind of fights that come from silence rather than anger.
We still loved each other, but it was a love covered in dust.Affection had become habit; passion had become memory.
Some nights we lay side by side, staring at the ceiling, both pretending to be asleep so we wouldn't have to face the growing distance.It wasn't that we didn't care — it was that we didn't know how to bridge the space between us anymore.
The flame that once burned wild and bright was now just a small ember — still warm, but fragile.I told myself it was just a phase, that every relationship had seasons.But deep down, I felt something shifting — quietly, painfully, inevitably.