Rain tapped against the café window like a soft warning steady, rhythmic, almost comforting if not for the storm brewing inside Yuna's chest. She sat across from Mark, her hands wrapped around a slowly cooling cup of coffee. The cinnamon foam on top had already faded into the bitter surface.
Mark hadn't touched his drink. He stared out the window, his reflection barely visible in the glass, a ghost of the man he used to be or maybe, a mirror of what they'd become.
It had been thirteen minutes since they sat down. Yuna had counted every second.
"So that's it?" Mark finally asked, voice low, almost drowned by the sound of the rain.
Yuna's fingers tightened around the mug. She didn't look at him. She couldn't. His voice still held the same calm tone that once made her feel safe but now, it only made the ache in her chest worse.
"No," she said, after a long pause. "Not yet."
Mark turned his head slightly, his eyes scanning her face for something hope, maybe. Or closure. But Yuna kept her eyes on her coffee, watching the swirl of brown dissolve into stillness.
"I want us to try... one more time," she said quietly. "Three months. That's all I'm asking."
Mark blinked. "Three months?"
Yuna nodded. "We treat it like a challenge. No fighting. No bringing up the past. We try to remember what it felt like—before everything started falling apart."
Mark let out a short laugh, dry and tired. "A three-month challenge? That sounds like something off a self-help blog."
She smiled at that, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Maybe. But it's better than ending this right here, like this."
He leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his hair. It was longer now, messier. Yuna used to tease him about it, back when they still laughed about little things.
"What happens after the three months?" he asked.
Yuna looked up, finally meeting his eyes. Her gaze was steady, but there was a glimmer of something in it fear, maybe. Or sadness she hadn't allowed to spill out yet.
"Then we say goodbye," she said softly. "No fights. No begging. Just... goodbye."
Mark stared at her, his jaw tense. He wanted to ask why now, why she was clinging to something they both knew had already begun to slip through their fingers months ago. But instead, he just nodded, slowly.
"Alright," he murmured. "Three months."
Outside, the rain picked up, falling harder against the glass. Inside, a storm of another kind had just begun.
The apartment smelled like lemon soap and quiet grief.
Mark tossed his keys in the bowl by the door and kicked off his shoes, trying to ignore the way the place still looked like her. Her throw pillows, her tea collection, the little sticky notes with half-finished grocery lists. Even the blanket on the couch still carried the faint scent of her shampoo lavender and something he could never quite name.
Yuna stepped in behind him, slower, more careful. She set her umbrella down in the corner and stared at the space they used to share without thinking.
It had been three weeks since she moved out.
Now, she was back temporarily.
Just three months. Ninety days. One last chance.
Mark ran a hand over his face. "So… how do we do this?"
Yuna set her bag down. "We make rules," she said. "Ground rules. Boundaries. So it doesn't get messy."
He snorted. "You mean messier."
She ignored that. "Rule one: No fighting. If we feel like arguing, we walk away. Talk later, after we calm down."
"Alright," Mark said, nodding slowly. "No fighting."
"Rule two," she continued, a little more hesitantly, "We spend time together. Not out of obligation, but… because we want to. At least one meaningful thing every week. A walk. A movie. Something."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "Like dates?"
"If you want to call them that," Yuna said. Her voice was quiet. "I just don't want us to become roommates pretending we don't know how this ends."
He looked at her for a long moment. "And how does it end, Yuna?"
She didn't answer. Just looked away.
Mark sighed. "Alright. No fighting. One... date a week. What else?"
She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. "No talking about what happens after."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, let's not spend these three months worrying about what comes next. No breakup planning. No imagining happy endings either. We stay in the moment."
Mark was silent for a beat, then said, "You're really serious about this."
Yuna nodded. "I want to try. I need to try."
What she didn't say what she couldn't say was that every day felt heavier now, like the hourglass had been turned over and all she could hear was sand slipping through. She had already circled the end date on a calendar he hadn't seen.
July 17.
Ninety days from now.
Mark stood up, walking to the kitchen. "Want tea?" he asked.
Yuna's smile was small, but it was real. "Yeah. You still have chamomile?"
He opened the cupboard, pulled down a box. "Still expired," he said with a smirk.
She laughed, and for a moment, it almost felt like it used to two people in sync, teasing in soft tones, the kind of familiarity you can't fake.
But just as quickly as it came, the moment faded.
Three months. That's all they had.
And only Yuna knew why.
Flashback : First Winter Together
It was the first snow of that year. Yuna remembered because it was also the first night Mark said "I love you."
The power had gone out in his tiny apartment. The radiator groaned once, then died with a sad, metallic sigh, and the silence that followed was so absolute that they both just stared at each other, unsure what to do.
Mark lit three candles, found a blanket, and pulled her down onto the old, squeaky floorboards with a grin that could still undo her. "If we die of frostbite," he said, "at least we'll go down warm and dramatic."
Yuna laughed and tucked herself into his side. Outside, snow fell in lazy spirals, covering the city in a hush. They sat there for a long time, not talking, just listening to the quiet, feeling each other's breaths against chilled skin.
"I could stay like this forever," she whispered.
Mark kissed the top of her head. "Then do."
She turned her face toward him, half in shadow, half in light. "Forever's a big word."
"So is love," he said. "But I think I'm already there."
She didn't answer at first. Her heart had clenched too fast, too hard. She had loved before, but never like this. Never with that kind of terrifying clarity.
When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a breath.
"Me too."
He smiled, eyes soft. "That's good. Because I'm pretty sure I just decided to build a life with you in it."
And she had believed him. Completely.
Back to Present Day:
Yuna sat on the edge of the bed now, the same words echoing in her mind.
"I'm pretty sure I just decided to build a life with you in it."
Her fingers found the necklace Mark had given her that same winter a simple silver pendant she hadn't worn in months.
Slowly, quietly, she slipped it over her head.
She had ninety days to find that version of him again. Of herself, too.
Maybe she was a fool.
But fools, she thought, still feel love more deeply than the wise ever dare.