Weeks had passed since the breakup. She had moved back into her small apartment near the campus, and his place had become eerily quiet. The kitchen no longer smelled of coffee, her notebooks no longer lay scattered across the couch, and the silence in the hallway weighed heavier than any night shift. Gavin convinced himself that it was for the best — less chaos, more order. But the sight of a forgotten hair tie or an open notebook covered in scribbles made the order crumble instantly.

He had already found reasons to call her twice: once, “you left your flash drive,” another time, “I found your folder among my papers.” She answered dryly, evenly, keeping her distance. But he kept going. Those few minutes when her voice filled the silence again were the only ones that mattered, and it drove him insane.

The phone twisted in his hands, his teeth clenched with frustration — at her, at himself, at his own weakness. Finally, he dialed.

— I’ll come by, — he said sharply, without a pause, as if stating a fact rather than asking.

— Your ring is still there. The one I gave you for your birthday. Take it.

He knew perfectly well she hadn’t left it by accident. The ring lay in the drawer, cold and foreign, as if marking the end of their story. But his hands trembled slightly while holding it. That wasn’t the real reason for the call. The reason was her. And as the dial tone hung in the air, he realized: it wasn’t the ring that drew him back. It was that he could no longer endure living among empty walls, where not a single trace of her remained.