I watch as she zips up her bag, making sure she has everything. The sound fills the quiet room, but I barely hear it. I should be used to this by now, but I’m not. Before she can move away, I step forward, wrapping my arms around her waist from behind, pulling her close. She doesn’t resist, just sighs softly.

This is how it always is. We meet every weekend, spend the days wrapped up in each other, then Sunday comes, and she leaves. She flies back home for work, and I stay here, left counting the days until I see her again. It’s not official—whatever this is—but that doesn’t make it any easier. And every time, I try to make her stay.

“You know I have to go,” she murmurs. “I have work.” Her voice is soft, but there’s finality in it, like she already knows where this is going.

I press a slow kiss to her neck, holding her just a little tighter. “Stay,” I whisper. “I’ll book you another flight, I don’t care. Just… stay a little longer.” My hands tighten around her waist, not wanting to let go just yet.