While she's been gone, every day has felt like an uphill climb. The empty space beside me, where her presence used to be, is a constant reminder of how difficult it is to move forward without her. She isn’t gone forever, I know that. But sometimes, it feels as though she might be. The ache of her absence cuts deep, and yet I try not to resent her decision. I try not to let the distance breed bitterness. Instead, I focus on piecing together how I felt that day one month ago — when she looked at me with tears in her eyes and asked for a break.

The media had sunk its claws into our relationship, twisting it into something unrecognizable. She said she needed space to breathe, to regroup. I understood, at least, that’s what I told her. But understanding doesn’t make it any easier.

Now here I am, sitting in this restaurant, every emotion I’ve fought to contain bubbling to the surface. Then I see her. She steps through the door wearing the same dress she wore the night we met. My heart stutters in my chest. It’s as if time rewinds, as if I’m seeing her for the first time all over again. She is breathtaking, and for a moment, the noise of the world fades away. All that exists is her. All that matters is that she’s here. And in that instant, the hope I’d been holding onto feels a little less fragile.