It started with the job offer. Eli got a position in Chicago, some creative agency he always dreamed about.
We were lying on his dorm bed, legs tangled, when he told me.
"I think I'm gonna take it."
I sat up. "Chicago?"
"Yeah. I know it's far, but... it's everything I've worked for."
He looked so excited. Proud. And suddenly I felt like the bad guy for hesitating.
"You want me to come?"
He paused. "I mean, yeah... but your life is here."
"So, long-distance?"
"We'll make it work."
We tried. God, we tried.
At first, it was okay. Calls at night. Video chats. Memes sent at 3 a.m. But then his replies got slower. He started missing our calls. I stopped telling him about my day because I didn't want to bother him.
Then came the visit. I flew to Chicago for a weekend.
Something was off. His apartment felt cold. His hugs felt distracted. I found a red scarf on his couch that wasn't mine.
I didn't ask. He didn't explain.
But that's when I knew.
Love doesn't always leave like a storm. Sometimes, it just fades—quietly, painfully.