Learning Love in the Silence

They always said goodnight twice. Once out of habit. Once because neither of them wanted to

be the first to disappear. After the second goodnight, there was always

a pause, just long enough to hear breathing on the line. Just long enough

to pretend they were in the same room. When the distance started,

they filled it with words. Stories. Jokes. Future plans spoken

like promises. But over time, the calls grew quieter. Not colder, just heavier.

One night, she said goodnight only once. The silence afterward stretched.

He waited. She waited. Neither spoke. Finally, she said,