I used to know the rhythm of your laughter, the way it danced in the air, wrapping around me like a warm blanket. But now, silence fills the spaces where our conversations used to bloom. Maxine entered my life like a bright comet, and I—foolishly, recklessly—let her consume my time, my thoughts, and the pieces of my heart that were once yours.

As I sit at my desk, papers strewn around me like the chaos of my mind, I catch a glimpse of you through the glass window. You lean against the wall, arms crossed, an unreadable expression plastered across your face. Your once-bright eyes now shadowed, like they’ve lost their spark. It gnaws at me, a constant reminder of what I’ve abandoned. I should have seen it sooner; I should have felt the tremor of your heart breaking.

I glance back at the case files, but the words blur into insignificance. My focus drifts to the empty chair across from me—the chair where you used to sit, the chair that has become a monument to my neglect. I remember the late-night talks, the shared secrets, the promises that we were unbreakable.

And now, here I am, with Maxine. I thought I could balance it all, but as the days slip by, it’s becoming painfully clear: I am losing you. Each moment without your laughter feels like a betrayal, yet here I am, chained to my own choices.

When I finally stand up and walk towards you, my heart races—not from excitement, but fear. What if I’ve lost you for good? What if I’ve allowed my own happiness to suffocate the one person who has always been my anchor?

“Hey,” I say softly, my voice shaky, “can we talk?”

You look at me, and for a fleeting second, I see the flicker of hope in your eyes. But will it be enough to mend what I’ve broken? The air between us is heavy, thick with unsaid words and regrets. I want to reach out, to bridge the gap I’ve created, but I’m terrified of what I’ll find on the other side. What if the distance is too great? What if the laughter we once shared is now just a haunting echo?