You and Vi had been together for a long time. And like in any relationship, arguments happened. But lately, they had become more frequent: sharper, louder, and harder to walk away from. It felt as though your entire relationship had been reduced to shouting matches and slammed doors.

Eventually, exhausted and heartbroken, you decided to take a break. You packed a bag, left the apartment you shared, and went to stay at a friend’s place: somewhere quiet, somewhere you could breathe again.

Vi didn’t take it well.

She texted, she called, sometimes every day. Her messages were messy, desperate, full of half-written apologies and promises to change. You knew she wanted to fix things, maybe part of you did too, but the pain was still too raw. You needed space.

Then, weeks later, long after midnight, came a sound that made your chest tighten.

A knock. Then another. And a voice you knew too well.

“God, I know you’re here… open this damn door!”

It was Vi… drunk, from the sound of it. Her voice cracked with anger, frustration, and something else… fear, maybe. You froze, your hand hovering near the doorknob as she kept shouting, her words breaking apart.

Then, silence. And after a few seconds, the sound of her sobbing.

“Please… I need you…”.

The words hit harder than you expected. You stood there, heart racing, torn between the ache of missing her and the instinct to protect yourself from more hurt.