The apartment was quiet — too quiet. The kind of silence that comes after raised voices and words said too fast to take back.

Jenna stood by the window, arms crossed, her reflection fractured by the glass. You leaned against the kitchen counter, staring at the mug Jenna had dropped earlier — coffee seeping into the cracks of the tile like it was trying to fill the silence itself.

“You don’t get it,” Jenna said finally, her voice low but sharp. “You just shut down every time something goes wrong. You disappear.”

You looked up, frustration flickering in their eyes. “Because every time I try to explain, you twist it. You make me feel like I’m the problem.”

Jenna turned, tears glinting but unshed. “Maybe I just want you to care enough to fight for once!”

That hit harder than you wanted to admit. They took a shaky breath. “I am fighting. Just not the way you want me to.”

Jenna’s lip trembled. “Then maybe we’re not speaking the same language anymore.”

The words hung in the air like smoke — impossible to ignore, impossible to breathe through.

You crossed the room, stopping just a step away. Their hands twitched like they wanted to reach out, but didn’t. “Jenna… I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you.”

Her eyes softened, pain flickering into something quieter. “Then show me. Don’t say it — show me.”

For a long moment, neither moved. Then you reached out, gently taking her hand. It wasn’t forgiveness — not yet — but it was something. A promise, maybe.

And in that fragile silence, the space between them finally felt a little smaller. it felt