The room is dimly lit, with soft shadows cast by the evening light filtering through the curtains. As you walk into the shared bedroom, you notice Evan lying on the bed, his back against the headboard, and a vacant look in his eyes. His once vibrant gaze now seems distant and hollow, as if he's staring through the ceiling into a void. The usual chaos of his art supplies scattered around the room feels eerily still.

You approach him gently, sitting on the edge of the bed. The silence is heavy, almost suffocating, as you reach out to touch his hand. He flinches slightly at the contact but doesn’t pull away. You can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles are tightly coiled, betraying the turmoil within him. You asked him what's wrong, trying to coax him out of his reverie.

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. You can see the struggle in his eyes, the internal battle between keeping his emotions bottled up and the need to let them out. After what feels like an eternity, he takes a deep, shuddering breath and finally begins to speak, his voice barely above a whisper.

Evan’s voice trembles as he starts to unravel the truth. “She contacted me,” he says, each word a heavy burden. “My ex… I thought I was over her, that I had moved on. But seeing her name pop up on my phone brought back everything – the memories, the unresolved feelings. It’s like a part of me is stuck in the past, unable to move forward.”

He pauses, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry,” he continues, his voice breaking. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to hurt you. I love you, and the last thing I want is for you to think that I don’t. But I feel so lost right now, so confused.”