I can still smell her on my pillow, that mix of vanilla and something floral she always wears.
Still feel the ghost of her skin against mine.
Still hear the way she said my name when she came apart in my arms.
I reach across the mattress anyway, some stupid part of me hoping I'm wrong.
Hoping she's just in the bathroom, or getting water, or standing by the window watching the sunrise.
But I know better.
Ingrid ran.
Again.
I sit up, scrubbing my hands over my face.
The clock on my nightstand reads 8:17 AM.
She's been gone for hours.
Probably left the second I fell asleep, sneaking out like last night meant nothing.
Like I didn't tell her I've wanted her for years.
Like she didn't fall apart in my arms and let me see her,reallysee her, for the first time.
My phone sits on the nightstand, silent.
I grab it anyway, check for messages.
Nothing.
Of course nothing.
I pull up her contact, thumb hovering over her name.
What would I even say?
Why did you run?
Come back.
I meant everything I said.
Instead I type:
We need to talk.
Send it.
Watch the screen.
The message shows delivered but not read.
She's probably deleted it without looking.
Or blocked my number.
