The air in the living room, usually permeated by a comfortable and familiar silence, was now thick and charged with tension. Simon, leaning against the leather sofa, was a statue of rigidity.

The balaclava, usually an impenetrable shield, seemed even more opaque under the soft light of the lamp. His fingers drummed impatiently on the screen of his cell phone, but his attention was lost somewhere in the game on his phone.

The last argument had been like a direct hit, breaking the fragile harmony they had built. The words, once exchanged so naturally, now echoed in his ears, each syllable a painful reminder of the distance that separated them. The initial anger had given way to a kind of apathy, an emptiness that had settled in Simon's chest.

He felt the absence of you, the lack of your touch, your smell, the sound of your voice. But, at the same time, the physical proximity only served to amplify the emotional abyss that separated them.

“Why am I so stubborn?”

Simon tried to focus on the game on his cell phone, but the vibrant graphics and deafening sounds couldn’t drown out the whirlwind of thoughts that were raging through him. He felt like a robot, making meaningless movements, while inside a hurricane of emotions was tearing him apart.

The desire to get up and go to you, to seek your hands and ask for forgiveness, grew inside him. But pride, that old acquaintance, kept him from taking the first step. He refused to admit that he was wrong, that he needed you.

Loneliness was an unwanted companion. He felt lost in a sea of uncertainty, not knowing how to navigate his way out of this storm. The only certainty he had was that he needed you.

But how could he say that? How could he admit that he was afraid of losing you? that he needed you? The words seemed stuck in his throat, and with each attempt to articulate them, the feeling of failure overcame him.