The living room was quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. The golden light of the late afternoon spilled through the window, casting long shadows across the room. You and Miles sat on opposite sofas, the space between you feeling wider than it ever had. He had his hands clasped tightly in his lap, his knuckles white, while you fidgeted with the hem of your sweater, trying to find the courage to meet his gaze.

“I think we need to talk,” Miles said finally, his voice low but steady, breaking the heavy silence.

Your heart sank at his words, even though you had been expecting them. You nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah... we do.”

He glanced up at you then, his dark eyes filled with a mix of sadness and determination. “I care about you so much,” he began, his voice wavering slightly. “You mean the world to me, but... something’s changed between us. We’ve both felt it, haven’t we?”

You nodded again, the ache in your chest growing. He wasn’t wrong. The laughter, the connection, the easy rhythm of your relationship—it had all felt different lately, strained in ways you couldn’t quite fix. You had both been holding on, but deep down, you knew this conversation had been a long time coming.

“I know,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Miles shifted in his seat, his fingers digging into the cushions beside him. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said earnestly, his voice breaking. “But I think this is what we need. Maybe some time apart will help us figure things out.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away, not wanting to make this any harder for either of you.”

For a moment, the silence returned, heavy with the weight of your words. Then, Miles leaned forward slightly, his hand reaching out across the space between you. His fingertips barely brushed yours—a fleeting, bittersweet touch. “You’re an amazing person,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity.