Chapter Five: She’s Gone
609 Words
Luca
Luca always thought she’d come back.
Amy always did before , after every fight, every cold silence, every “I’m done” that never really stuck.
But this time… she didn’t.
Days passed. Then a week.
His messages went from “You good?” to “So this is how it is now?” to just her name — short, raw, desperate.
He tried to play it cool at first, posting like nothing bothered him. But his friends noticed it the short temper, the empty stare when someone mentioned her name.
He started driving past Amy place at night. Not to bother her at least that’s what he told himself, just to see if her car was there.
It was.
Lights off. Curtains closed.
No sign of him left in her life.
He hated it.
Hated the quiet.
Hated knowing that for once, his pride cost him something he couldn’t replace.
One night, he called. No plan, no speech prepared just that need to hear her voice.
She didn’t answer.
So he left a voicemail.
“…I know you don’t want to hear from me,” he said, voice rough, like he hadn’t slept. “But I’m not gonna lie, it’s weird not having you around. The apartment feels different. I feel different. I know I went too far again but I’m trying. I swear I’m trying.”
He paused, breathing shaky. “I just… I don’t know how to do this without you.”
He hung up before he could say more.
And in that silence, for the first time, Luca realized love wasn’t something you could grip tighter to keep sometimes it was the very thing that slipped through your fingers the harder you held on.
He used to love quiet.
Now it haunted him.
The silence in his apartment was sharp, heavy. Every small sound, the hum of the fridge, the tick of the clock reminded him of the noise that used to fill the space when she was there. Her laugh. Her music. Even her sighs when he got on her nerves.
He’d play old voice messages sometimes, the ones she sent half-asleep or laughing about something dumb. He told himself it was just to remember what peace sounded like. But he knew it wasn’t peace he missed. It was her.
Work didn’t help. His focus was gone. His temper worse. People started keeping their distance, and he couldn’t blame them. Everything irritated him now everyone except you.
He’d scroll through Amy socials, half-hoping to see something, half-hoping not to.
And when he saw her post a picture, new hair, new glow it hit him like a punch.
She looked happy.
Without him.
He stared at that photo for a long time, trying to convince himself it didn’t mean anything.
That maybe she was just pretending.
That maybe she still missed him too.
But deep down, he knew.
That’s when the guilt started to twist into something darker the kind that doesn’t want to let go, even when it should.
He started keeping his phone close, waiting for her name to pop up.
It never did.
One night, he drove by her place again — same street, same car, same quiet lights.
He sat there for a long time, engine running, hands gripping the wheel. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to knock on her door or finally accept that he’d lost her.
For once, he chose the latter.
He put the car in drive and pulled away.
But as the city lights blurred past, the thought that he might never hear Amy voice again that hit harder than any fight ever did.
- Writer
