Distance
262 Words
Amara didn’t announce the change.
She simply became… quieter.
She stopped lingering in shared spaces.
Her laughter faded into politeness.
Conversations with Alexander shortened, clipped, careful—like she was afraid of touching something fragile and sharp at the same time.
Alexander noticed everything.
The way she no longer met his eyes for too long.
The way she chose the far end of the room when he entered.
The way she smiled at Daniel without hesitation.
It cut deeper than any threat ever had.
“You’re avoiding me,” Alexander said one evening, finally cornering her near the balcony.
Amara looked out over the city, arms folded. “I’m giving you space. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“But it’s what you asked for,” she replied softly. “You told me to go to bed. To step back. So I did.”
He stepped closer. “I was trying to protect you.”
She turned then, eyes shining but controlled. “By making me feel unwanted?”
The words landed hard.
“I can’t keep being pulled close and pushed away,” she continued. “I’m not strong enough for that.”
Alexander swallowed. “And Daniel?”
Her lips pressed together. “Daniel doesn’t make me feel like a mistake.”
Silence stretched, painful and raw.
Alexander nodded slowly, pride warring with fear. “I see.”
But what he saw—what terrified him—was the truth:
She was slipping through his fingers.
And this time, power couldn’t stop it.
- Writer
