The kind of still that reminded you no one else lived there. No laughter, no soft hum of the dishwasher, no little voice asking for one more bedtime story. Just silence, the kind that hugged the walls and got under your skin.
I dropped my bag on the couch and sank into it as the city outside buzzed faintly. Cars, sirens, a distant hum of life. But in here, it was just me.
And I hated it.
My apartment had never felt small before. But tonight, it did.
Everywhere I looked, there was something that reminded me of them. The tiny Barbie hairbrush Harper had forgotten on the counter. Logan’s shirt that he’d let me borrow, that still smelled faintly of him. A picture Harper had made for me at school and left taped to my refrigerator when we’d stopped by my apartment one day before dance.
I tried to work. Opened my laptop. Stared at the screen. Closed it again.
The words wouldn’t come.
All I could think about was the way Harper had leaned over in the back seat earlier, eyes heavy with sleep, and murmured,She lives with us now too.
And the way Logan had looked at me afterward, like he’d already made up his mind that somehow that we fit.
It was almost nine when I made a cup of tea and sat by the window. The city lights blurred through the glass, turning into streaks of gold.
I thought space would help me breathe. But it just made everything louder. I’d been in their lives for just a few short weeks, and I was already falling apart just a few hours without them.
I missed her laugh.
I missed his calm.
I missedthem.
The ache in my chest wasn’t hurt anymore — it was longing.
And longing, I realized, was just love with nowhere to go.
I sat with that thought, feeling its weight before reaching for my phone. I noticed a new message from Logan sitting at the top of my screen.
Logan:Thinking of you, Counselor. Always.
I smiled softly, my heart catching on the familiar warmth of the nickname.
I stared at those words, reread them three times, and felt the tears come as they blurred the screen.
I typed a dozen replies, then erased them all.
Finally, I just whispered into the empty apartment, “I miss you.”
The walls didn’t echo it back, and that was when I realized I didn’t want to be here anymore.
I didn’t even think as I grabbed my keys. I just slipped into my shoes, pulled a sweater over my tank top, and headed for the door.
The drive felt automatic, muscle memory guiding me through familiar streets under a tranquil sky, the air thick with salt from the water. I kept telling myself I just needed to see them, but even as I thought it, I knew that wasn’t the truth.
When I pulled into the driveway, the porch light was still on.
For a moment, I just sat there, hands resting on the steering wheel, heart thudding as I tried to piece together what I wanted to say.
Through the large front bay window, I could see Logan sitting on the couch with a book in his hands that he clearly wasn’t reading. His hair was tousled in the way that always left me flustered.
And then, as if he felt me there, he looked up. Our eyes met through the glass, and something in me shifted before I even moved. By the time I reached the door, he was already there, opening it.
“Hey,” I whispered.
