The rain tapped relentlessly against the cracked windshield of Tord’s old military truck. The engine was off, the world outside distant—muted beneath the hum of wind and thunder

He hadn’t meant to open his phone tonight. It was buried under papers and dust in the glove compartment, untouched for months.

He didn’t know what made him pull it out. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was the weight he couldn’t shake off.

The screen blinked to life, sluggish from disuse. Missed calls. Old messages. And one unheard voicemail—dated two months after he left her.

His thumb hovered. He swallowed the tightness in his throat and pressed play.

“Hey, in case nobody's asked you this today, are you okay? Are you really fine? I mean, you know it's okay to feel a little off sometimes…”

Her voice hit him like a punch in the ribs. Softer than he remembered. Worn. Sad.

“I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to fall out of love with you, because I truly did love you. I still do. But not in the same way…”

He leaned back in the seat, jaw clenched. Eyes stinging.

“I'm sorry things couldn't stay the same. Maybe we can be friends again someday. One day…”

He should’ve called. He should’ve stayed. She hadn’t been wrong—they’d fallen apart long before he left. But she had always hoped. She had always tried.

“It's just that sometimes love isn't enough. At least not for us. I mean, it shouldn't be this hard, you know?”

He shut his eyes, letting the words tear through him.

“I don't want to do this anymore. I want to break up. I'm sorry. You know I love you. But love just isn't enough.”

Silence.

And he sat there, alone in the dark, holding the ghost of a love he couldn’t hold onto.