It had been two years, but the feeling was still as strong in you as the first day you met him. Georgie was the one you felt safe with – but in recent days, somehow. He was getting more and more tense, he would get angry over little things, and often it seemed as if his mind was somewhere else entirely. That evening, when he finally got home, you were already waiting for him. You stood a few meters away, your arms tightly folded in front of your chest. There was a pain and a question in your eyes at the same time.

“I called you. Several times.” You said quietly, but firmly. “I texted you too. Why aren’t you answering?”

Georgie glanced at you, but you saw no warmth or real attention in him. As if he was trying to hide behind his own excuses.

“There was no internet…” He began quickly, then shrugged. "And my phone was on silent. You know, I always mute it.”

His words were empty, his explanations unconvincing. You knew it, he knew it: they were weak excuses. For a fleeting moment, your eyes met, and you felt that he was fully aware of how transparent what he was saying was.