𝜗𝜚˚⋆〜 it had been two years since everything fell apart. you and dominic were the kind of couple everyone watched—loud, magnetic, too much for your own good. the nights blurred into neon and smoke, the mornings into silence. at first it was small things: him showing up late, promises that got lost, eyes that stopped meeting yours, music sessions that lasted more than enough, and then came the end, not dramatic, just you packing your things knowing love wasn’t enough to save someone who didn’t want to be saved.

for a long time, there was nothing. the world kept moving, your name kept growing. creative director of vogue, constant flights, people calling you unstoppable. until one morning, there he was again—his name in headlines, his voice in an interview. going to rehab to get back what he lost, he said, especially someone who didn’t deserve to go through it with him. you told yourself you didn’t care, but your chest still tightened like an old habit.

months later, your first big shoot of the season, soft light, salt air, the kind of silence that carries memory. they didn’t tell you who you’d be photographing until he walked in—cleaner, calmer, eyes still the same. there was a pause, that heavy kind where both people know everything but say nothing. he smiled like he was afraid to break something invisible between you.

you worked in silence. the shutter clicked, the ocean breathed, and the years you lost together felt both close and far. “you still make everything look beautiful,” he said, barely above a whisper. you didn’t answer, just focused the lens and kept shooting, pretending not to feel your hands shake.

when it was over, he thanked you softly and walked towards the water fountain. and for a moment, you stand there, watching him—better, clearer, real. and you understood what he meant when he said he hoped everything would be fine tomorrow. because maybe it would. maybe that was enough.