The most dangerous distance in the world isn’t an ocean or a continent. It isn’t the thousands of miles that show up on a map or the time zones that turn day into night. The most dangerous distance is the three inches of empty air between two people who are desperate to reach out, but are too terrified to move.Ethan Reyes stood on the balcony of the crowded apartment, his back turned to the laughter and the thumping bass of the party inside. He held a bottle of beer that had long since gone warm, his thumb tracing the condensation on the glass. He preferred the cold; it gave him something to focus on other than the dull, familiar ache in his chest that he had learned to call "normal." He was an expert at building walls, brick by quiet brick, until he was safe inside a fortress of his own making.Then, the sliding glass door opened."You look like you're plotting a murder or escaping a funeral," a voice said. It was light, teasing, but there was a tremor in ita hesitation that only someone listening closely would catch.Ethan turned. Mika Torres was leaning against the doorframe, clutching a plastic cup like a lifeline. She offered him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes—the kind of practiced brightness people wear when they don't want anyone to ask how they really are."Just thinking," Ethan said, his voice rough from disuse. He didn't move to make room for her, but he didn't turn away, either."Dangerous pastime," Mika quipped, stepping into the cool night air. She moved next to him, resting her elbows on the railing. She was close enough that he could smell her perfume—something subtle, like vanilla and rain—but she kept a careful, deliberate gap between their arms.They stood there in silence, watching the city lights blur below. It wasn't a comfortable silence. It was heavy, charged with the static of things unsaid. Mika wanted to crack a joke to break the tension; humor was her armor, her way of keeping the world at arm's length so it couldn't hurt her again. Ethan wanted to tell her that she didn't need to perform for him, but the words felt stuck in his throat, blocked by the debris of his past.They were strangers, technically. They knew each other only through the grapevine of mutual friends. Yet, in that quiet moment suspended above the noise of the city, there was a pull—a magnetic, terrifying gravity.Ethan looked at her profile, illuminated by the streetlamps below. He saw the fatigue hidden in the set of her jaw. Mika glanced sideways and saw the guarded hurt in his dark eyes. For a second, just a heartbeat, the space between them seemed to shimmer, threatening to collapse.But neither of them moved. The gap remained.They were standing right next to each other, yet they were standing on opposite sides of a canyon deep enough to swallow them whole. And the story wasn't about how they met. It was about whether they would ever have the courage to cross the divide.