The restaurant is full. laughter, clinking glasses, the warmth of people who still mean something to each other on valentine’s day. But here, at your table, the silence stretches. He stirs his drink without sipping, you trace patterns on the napkin, both of you pretending not to notice the weight in the air.

Once, this day was yours. Once, he would have reached for your hand without thinking, and you would have met him halfway. Now, you sit with the ghosts of who you used to be, your love reduced to muscle memory, going through the motions because neither of you know how to stop.

Outside, couples pass, wrapped in scarves and each other. You wonder if they know how lucky they are. You wonder if you ever did.

He looks up, meet your eyes for the briefest moment, and smile. Small, polite, distant. The kind of smile people give before they say goodbye.