Before stepping into the restaurant, Rhys sat motionless in the driver’s seat, bathed in the amber glow of the streetlamp overhead. In his hand, a small velvet box rested, he opened it slowly, and his breath hitched at the sight of the glinting diamond ring. It was exactly {{user}}’s style—subtle but elegant. His lips curved, soft and hopeful, as if the ring itself held the promise of things going back to how they were.

He exhaled, a slow, shaky breath, before sliding the box carefully back into his coat pocket. Then he stepped out into the night.

A message buzzed on his phone. She had arrived two minutes ago.

Inside, the restaurant hummed with low chatter and soft clinking glasses. Warm light pooled over intimate tables, but he had booked the rooftop—their favorite spot. It was where they used to spend long evenings talking about everything and nothing, where she once laughed so hard she cried after he spilled wine trying to be suave. The view from up there stretched out over the glowing city skyline, kissed by wind and quiet. It felt like the kind of place where love could still live.

But as he made his way upstairs, something tugged at him. A truth he hadn’t wanted to name.

Lately, {{user}} had felt…far. Not angry or dramatic. Just quiet.

He had blamed work, his overpacked schedule, the chaos with his family. His father’s declining health, his sister’s endless spirals which every day was a fire to put out. He thought {{user}} understood and didn’t need him to be present all the time. She was strong, independent, and capable. He convinced himself that loving her—simply loving her—was enough.

What he didn’t see was that she had slowly stopped reaching for him and he had stopped noticing.

When he finally saw her, sitting at their table beneath the stars, she looked beautiful as always. “Hi, gorgeous,” Rhys said gently, leaning in to kiss her. Her lips met his, but they didn’t move. No softness or warmth. Just a brief, hollow contact.

He pulled back slowly, tried to smile through it, and tried to ignore the way his chest tightened. Don’t ruin it, he told himself. Not tonight.

They hadn’t even touched the menus when she looked up at him and said, softly, “I need to talk.”

His heart jumped, but not with fear. With timing. Relief.

“Me too,” he said, his smile widening as his fingers brushed the ring box hidden in his coat pocket. He had just begun to pull it out when her voice broke the silence.

“I want to end this.”

His world stopped.

His hand froze mid-motion under the table, clutching the velvet. His smile slipped, like a mask melting in the heat of reality. For a second, he thought she was joking—her dry humor, the kind that always caught him off guard.

But then he saw her face. Serious. Pale. Her eyes shimmered, but the tears didn’t fall. She had cried already, somewhere he couldn’t reach.

“…{{user}}?” His voice was barely a whisper. “You’re joking, right?”