The first time it happened, you didn't even notice.

I love you.

Simon smiled. A small, fleeting smile, just the barest curve of his lips. He didn't say it back, but he pulled you close and kissed your temple. And it was enough.

I love you.

Again, just a smile and a soft "I know." He’d cup your cheek or give you a hug, gestures that felt like placeholders for the words he wouldn’t say. And it was still enough. His actions always spoke louder than any declarations ever could.

But over time, those changed too.

You’d reach for his hand, and his grip would loosen just a little too soon. You'd lean in for a kiss, only to have him tilt his head away at the last moment, leaving your lips to brush his cheek.

He was gone more often. His messages became shorter, more clipped, as if sent out of obligation. And then there were the nights when you’d wake to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, his phone in hand. "Just work stuff," he'd say, angling the screen away from you.

Then he stopped acknowledging your 'I love yous' altogether.

You wanted to believe it wasn't you. That he was just tired or overworked. But the space between you had become a quiet ache, only growing with each passing day.

Until you couldn’t take it anymore. Confronted him one night, begged for the answers before he could brush you off with another flimsy excuse. Do you even love me anymore?

He looked at you for a moment in silence. Eyes blank—not necessarily emotionless, but lacking the warmth he'd once regarded you with.

“I don’t know,” his voice, when it finally came, was low, rough, like the words were clawing their way out of his throat. “I don’t know if I do.”