Tom glances at the screen. "Yeah, looks good."
I wait for the counter-suggestion. The "but what if we tried..." The back-and-forth we usually have where he tweaks one angle and I adjust another until we've built something better than either of us started with.
Nothing.
My hand pauses on the trackpad.
I watch him scroll through the image sequence on his own screen. His jaw is tight, pulled in at the corners. Shoulders raised slightly, tension climbing up the sides of his neck. When I laugh at an autocorrect typo in my slide notes, he smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
He's here. Physically present, coffee bought, laptop open, on time. But there's a carefulness to him.
"You okay?" I ask.
Tom looks up, surprised. "Yeah. Why?"
I hesitate. "You seem tense."
His eyes flick back to the laptop. "Just a lot on my mind with the presentation." He taps the trackpad twice. "We should add a transition slide between sections three and four."
I nod. Open my notes app and typetransition slide 3 to 4, but I don't register the words. I want to push. Ask what's really going on. But our safe word is for when one of us needs space, not for forcing someone to talk when they're not ready.
Tom doesn't meet my eyes for the rest of the session.
At 11:30, we pack up. Tom kisses my cheek. “See you Wednesday.” I watch him leave through the site office window.His shoulders are still tight, hands shoved in his jacket pockets as he walks toward the subway entrance.
***
The Donut is loud on Tuesday morning, espresso machine hissing and the door chime ringing every thirty seconds as the pre-work rush cycles through. I'm already in the corner booth when Priya, Liv, and Nadia arrive at 7:45.
My latte is half-gone and cold. I've shredded a napkin into precise strips. A small pile of white confetti sits next to my cup.
Priya slides into the booth, takes one look at my face, and says, "Okay. What's going on?"
I exhale and set down the napkin shreds. "How do you know when someone's pulling away versus just being stressed?"
Liv leans forward, elbows on the table. "What's he doing?"
I run through the evidence. Canceled weekend plans without offering an alternative.Talk sooninstead of a specific time. Monday's careful distance, the smile that didn't reach his eyes, the way he agreed with everything I suggested instead of pushing back like he usually does.
Nadia tilts her head. "Did something happen? Did you two fight?"
I shake my head. "Not that I know of. Everything was fine last week. And then Saturday he just... stepped back."
Priya exchanges a look with Liv. She turns back to me. "That's not stress. That's fear."
I look up. "Of what?"
Nadia says quietly, "Of how good it is. When things start feeling real, people get scared."
My stomach tightens. I wrap both hands around my cold latte. "So what do I do?" I ask.
I hear the edge in my voice—the need to fix it, control it, make it make sense. Nadia leans back against the booth. "You can't fix what you don't understand. Ask him."
I shake my head. "What if I'm wrong? What if I'm just reading into things and I make it weird by bringing it up?"
Liv reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "Your feelings are data. And if you don't ask, you'll just spiral and start trying to control everything."
I know she's right. But asking means risking the answer. Asking means hearing something I might not want to hear.
