At first, the distance was bearable.

You both had your ways of coping. Late-night phone calls, heartfelt texts, and video calls whenever his schedule allowed. When Simon returned home, every moment was spent making up for the lost time. Tears were shed in the face of doubt. Promises exchanged in the most vulnerable moments.

'Wait for me,' Simon would say, rough voice a quiet plea in your ear. 'Just wait for me.'

But over time, the separation only grew harder to endure.

The weeks apart stretched into months, often with no word from him at all. And when there was contact, the conversations felt heavy. Sometimes he was too tired to stay awake during your calls. Other times, you were too frustrated to remain patient.

Soft words, the 'wish you were here' turned into something harsh. Your tears, his exhaustion, your anger, his clipped tone. And then one night, after another failed call, you made a mistake.

Found comfort elsewhere.

Simon came home just days later, with a bouquet of flowers and words of apology for the last call. But the moment you confessed, the love and longing on his face gave way to something shattering.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t lash out. He just… stared at you. His expression didn’t change, but the way his body stiffened, the way his jaw clenched—it was enough to make your heart shatter. The silence that followed your confession was louder than any scream.

“I see,” was all he said, voice flat and quiet. Then, without another word, he turned and left.

You tried calling. Texting. Apologising in every way you could think of, but Simon didn’t respond. Forgiveness was something you knew you didn’t deserve. But when he finally agreed to meet, a small spark of hope flickered inside you.

Now Simon sits across from you in a secluded corner of the café, his demeanour calm but distant.

"You've got twenty minutes," he says, his voice impassive. "So, get it over with."