Three weeks had passed since Drew left for Boston.
To Elena, it felt like months.
At first, she'd clung to the routines: the soft opening bell of the café in the morning, the smell of freshly brewed coffee, the clatter of mugs, and the occasional too-loud laughter from Bella, her newest barista.
Work was her distraction, her safe haven. But even with a full calendar—poetry nights, weekend brunch events, and a few local magazine interviews—the quiet in her heart was louder than ever.
Drew was still present. Sort of. They texted almost daily, called every few days, and video-chatted twice a week. But something had shifted. Elena felt it in the way he hesitated before saying "I love you." In the way he sometimes didn't say it at all.
In the way she didn't ask for it anymore.
---
The first real crack came on a Monday morning.
Elena had sent Drew a photo of her with flour all over her face, mid-baking chaos, trying to perfect a new pastry recipe. It was silly, lighthearted, exactly the kind of thing they used to laugh about.
She waited for his reply.
One hour.
Then four.
By the time night fell, nothing.
The next morning, he sent a short message:
"Sorry babe, hectic day. Looked funny tho."
That was it. No warmth. No teasing. Just... acknowledgment.
Something tightened in her chest. She didn't respond.
---
Maya noticed the change instantly.
"You okay?" she asked one afternoon, sipping iced tea at their favorite corner booth in the café.
"Fine," Elena said, forcing a smile.
"You always say that when you're not fine."
Elena sighed. "It's just… Drew. He's different. Or maybe I am."
Maya frowned. "Long-distance sucks. But love doesn't disappear just because of miles."
"No," Elena said quietly. "But connection can."
Maya leaned forward, her voice softer. "Do you feel like he's slipping away?"
Elena hesitated. Then, in a whisper: "Yes."
---
Tuesday night, she sat alone in her apartment with her knees tucked to her chest, watching their old messages on her phone.
I want to grow old with you.
You're my person.
Promise me we'll always come back to each other.
She used to believe those words. They used to mean something.
Now they felt like echoes.
---
When Drew finally called midweek, she answered with guarded warmth.
"Hey," he said. "Missed you."
"You're four days late," she replied, not unkindly.
"I know. Work's been wild. I didn't mean to go quiet."
"It's not just about messages, Drew."
He paused. "Then what is it about?"
She swallowed. "It's about feeling like I'm the only one holding this together."
His face softened. "You're not. I promise you're not."
"But you're not here either," she said. "And maybe that's the problem."
Silence filled the call.
He didn't argue. He didn't apologize.
And that—more than anything—hurt the most.
---
By Friday, Elena stopped initiating contact.
She woke up, ran the café, hosted an open mic night, and went home without checking her phone. Her silence was a message. One she hoped he'd understand.
He didn't call.
---
The weekend arrived with a storm—rain hammered the windows, and thunder rolled through the quiet streets.
Inside the café, Elena wiped tables absently. Bella was closing up in the back. The usual Saturday buzz had faded early, thanks to the weather.
She stood at the front window, arms folded, watching the rain blur the streetlights.
Her heart felt heavy. Her body, tired. Not from work, but from waiting.
Waiting for calls. For clarity. For someone who had once made her feel like she was his whole world—but now made her question her place in it.
She didn't hear the front door open.
"Elena."
She turned. Maya stood there in a hoodie, soaked to the knees.
"You walked here?" Elena asked, surprised.
"I had to," Maya said. "I knew if I waited, I'd chicken out."
Elena raised a brow. "Chicken out of what?"
Maya took a deep breath. "Telling you something you don't want to hear."
Elena leaned against the counter, bracing herself.
"I love Drew," Maya began. "He's sweet and he adores you. But something's wrong. And you're letting it slide because you're scared of losing him."
Elena's eyes stung. "What do you want me to do? Tell him to come back? Force him to choose?"
"No," Maya said gently. "I want you to choose. Yourself. Your peace."
Elena looked away. "I can't imagine a future without him."
"But can you live with this version of him forever?"
That question stuck with her long after Maya left.
---
Sunday morning, Drew finally called.
She almost didn't pick up.
"Hi," she said, voice even.
He looked rough—eyes shadowed, jaw tense.
"I miss you," he said. "Badly."
She didn't smile. "That's becoming a habit."
He sighed. "I had a dream about you."
Her stomach dropped. "What kind of dream?"
"You were… gone. Vanished. And I couldn't find you. Couldn't hear your voice. I woke up panicking."
She inhaled slowly.
"I called to hear your voice," he said. "To make sure you're real."
"I'm here," she whispered.
"Promise me you won't disappear."
The irony almost made her laugh. "I won't. But Drew… sometimes it feels like you already have."
He looked stricken.
"Elena…"
"I don't want to fight," she said. "But I need more than words. I need effort."
He nodded. "I'll do better."
She nodded too. But deep down, she wasn't sure if effort would be enough anymore.
---
That night, she opened her sketchbook—the one Drew had gifted her with her name etched into the leather.
She drew without thinking. Soft curves, unfinished lines, faces that resembled his but weren't quite him.
She paused.
Then, for the first time in days, she wrote:
> When love begins to feel like a waiting room, maybe it's time to ask if the door is ever going to open.
She closed the sketchbook, heart aching.
---
Monday came with fragile hope.
She sent Drew a photo of the pastry she'd been perfecting—a buttery croissant with chocolate swirl—and captioned it: Next time you're here, you're trying this first.
He replied instantly.
"That looks insane. I'm already jealous of whoever gets to taste it."
She smiled, just a little.
He was trying.
So was she.
But beneath the sweet exchange lingered the growing truth neither of them had said out loud.
Something between them had changed. Quietly. Slowly.
And change, Elena knew, didn't always mean ending.
But sometimes… it meant something new had to begin.
---
She didn't know it yet, but that new beginning was coming.
Not in words.
But in glass.
In metal.
In the sound of screeching brakes.
In the sudden, sharp silence that follows impact.
But not today.
Today, she still had time.