She’s the girl you built a life with piece by piece, year by year. Sunday morning coffees, late-night calls, quiet dinners, holding hands in the silence because you didn’t need words. Loving her felt like breathing—natural, constant, effortless.

But now?

You wake up beside her and feel... nothing. Not resentment, not anger—just absence. Like a radio left on after the music ends. You smile because it’s habit. Your reach her hand because you should. But your heart? It doesn’t reach for her the way it used to.

And the worst part is—she notices.

She doesn’t accuse. She doesn’t cry. She just asks one question, voice steady but eyes already breaking:

“What went wrong?”

And you don’t know how to answer because how do you explain that sometimes love just… slips away, even when no one stopped trying?