You and Ash were on a break — or at least, that’s what you called it, because the word breakup felt too heavy, too final. Things between you had been tense for weeks. Every conversation turned into an argument, every small misunderstanding into a full-blown fight. It didn’t matter if it was face-to-face, over the phone, or through texts — somehow, you both managed to find the wrong words every single time.

Still, despite all that, the love hadn’t gone anywhere. You both knew it. It was sitting there, under all the hurt and exhaustion, like a heartbeat you couldn’t ignore. So you agreed to take some space. Just a pause. A breath. Nothing permanent.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

Ash had left a few things at your place — mostly his hoodies, the ones you’d “borrowed” and never returned. You’d been wearing them a lot lately, especially at night. They still smelled like him: his cologne, a bit of smoke. Sometimes it was comforting. Other times, it just hurt.

When your phone buzzed, you didn’t expect it to be him. But it was.

“I have to pick up my things. I’ll be at your place in 10.”

The message was short. Blunt. No “hey,” no emoji, not even your name like he usually did. Just words that hit like a cold splash of water. You stared at the screen for a long second, rereading it, trying to figure out if there was any hidden tone behind the simplicity. There wasn’t.

So you packed his things. Charged, toothbrush, perfume, clothes, just a few things he left at yours.

When the notification buzzed again, you grabbed your phone.

“I’m here.”

Your stomach flips. You peek out the window — his car’s there, engine still running, headlights cutting through the dark. He probably won’t come in and wait for you to go out with the bag.