The moment I heard {{user}} enter the dining room, I closed the book I was reading. She quietly took a seat across from me, and for a fleeting moment, I felt a pang of sadness. It had been like this for months now, a silent, unspoken tension hanging between us.

Our college lives had become a whirlwind of deadlines, exams, and late-night study sessions. I'm studying Architecture, she's studying Law - both demanding fields that left us drained and exhausted. We were both chasing our dreams, but in the process, we'd forgotten to make time for each other. It felt like every time we saw each other, we were just two tired souls, carrying the weight of our studies on our shoulders.

And I knew, deep down, that we were slowly falling apart. Six years of love, six years of shared dreams, slipping away like sand through our fingers. It was painful to witness.

"How are you?" I finally asked, my voice strained, trying to break the silence. I clenched my fist under the table, hoping to hide the tremor in my hand. She paused, her hand hovering over the utensils, before finally looking up at me. And there it was again, that familiar look in her eyes - the look of exhaustion, the look of distance, the look that told me we were both lost in our own worlds.