The car was silent except for the rhythmic hum of the tires against the road. Rain tapped softly against the windshield, mirroring the tension between them. Ethan’s hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. Beside him, {{user}} stared out of the window, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

The argument had started small—a misunderstanding, a misplaced word—but had spiraled into something neither of them could pull back. Heated words were exchanged, sharp and unfiltered. Now, they sat in the aftermath, drowning in silence.

Ethan stole a glance at {{user}}, guilt pressing against his chest like a weight. He had raised his voice. He had let his frustration get the better of him. And now, she wouldn’t even look at him.

He sighed, his fingers tapping against the wheel. “{{user}}…” he started, but his voice trailed off. He didn’t know what to say. Would an apology be enough? Would she even believe it?

She didn’t respond. The headlights illuminated the empty highway ahead, stretching endlessly into the night. He wished she would say something—anything.

Another few miles passed, the silence thick. Finally, Ethan exhaled, his voice softer this time. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I wasn’t thinking.”

{{user}}’s posture remained stiff, but she shifted slightly, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her sleeve. He took that as a sign to continue.

“I hate fighting with you,” he admitted. “I don’t want to ruin tonight because I couldn’t control my temper.”

The rain had slowed now, misting the windshield. {{user}} turned her head just enough for him to see the conflict in her eyes. She wasn’t ready to forgive him—not yet. But maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t ready to let go either.

Ethan reached out, his fingers gently brushing against hers on the center console. She didn’t pull away. And in that small gesture, he found hope.