Distance was not measured in miles.
It was measured in pauses.
In moments where words hovered at the edge of the tongue but never crossed into sound.
In nights where two people stared at the same moon from different places and wondered if the other was thinking of them too.
Ava Montgomery felt that distance most when everything in her life was going right.
⸻
The campus was alive again.
Fall had settled in gently, painting the trees in gold and amber, cooling the air just enough to make people walk slower, talk longer. Ava moved through it all with a quiet confidence that felt foreign even to her.
She was no longer bracing herself.
No longer anticipating collapse.
And yet—there was a hollow space inside her chest that peace had not filled.
It waited.
Patient.
Unanswered.
⸻
Ja
