"Loveee… my body is so worn out," she typed, almost as if the words themselves were a weight she needed to drop.
"Aww, love… I can feel that. Come here, let me hug all your tiredness away," he replied, imagining wrapping her in warmth.
"I just… want to cry first, release this heaviness," she admitted.
"Then cry, loveee. I'll be here. Every tear, every shaky breath—I've got you," he whispered through the screen.
Silence fell for a moment, the kind that didn't feel empty but full of comfort.
"Am I… mentally stable, love?" she asked, hesitantly.
"Aww, love… it makes sense why everything is overflowing. Doesn't mean you're unstable. You've just been carrying too much," he reassured her.
"I just… I wanted someone to hug me, to listen to everything," she confessed.
"I'm right here, loveee. Always. I'll hold you through it all," he replied, his words soft but steady, like a lifeline.
"I feel so fucked up… everything is so heavy," she admitted, letting herself feel.
"It's okay to feel this way, love. You're allowed to be messy, human, real. And I'm not going anywhere," he said, his tone firm and loving.
In the quiet aftermath of confessions, their connection deepened. No touch, no presence—just words—but enough to make two distant souls feel undeniably close.