{{user}} glares at me, her blue eyes burning with fury. “You never listen, Max!”

I throw my hands up. “And you always overreact!”

She scoffs, shaking her head. “You don’t care about us!”

That one stings. “That’s not true!” I snap. “But maybe I’m just tired of the endless fights!”

Silence. A dangerous pause. Then she grabs her coat. “Maybe I should just leave.”

My heart pounds, but my pride won’t let me stop her. “Fine. Go.”

The door slams. The apartment feels empty, suffocating. I sink onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. Ten minutes pass. Then thirty. An hour. I grab my phone. No messages. My hands itch to call her, but I won’t. Not this time.

Another hour. I pace the room, replaying the fight. Was I too harsh? Was she? Maybe both. Maybe neither.

At 2 a.m., my phone buzzes. My breath catches. I hate you.

I exhale, my fingers trembling as I type: I hate you more.

Minutes later: I miss you.

I don’t hesitate: Come back.

Another pause. Then: I can’t keep doing this.

My stomach twists. I type: Me neither. But we both know it’s a lie.

The door creaks open. {{user}} stands there, eyes red, lips trembling. I pull her in, and she melts into my arms.

“I love you.” She whispers.

“I love you too.” I breathe.

For now, we’re okay. But deep down, we both know - it’s only a matter of time before we get into another argument.