Chapter 9 - The Rift
946 Words
By the second week, the silence was no longer just absence. It was a wall. A thick, unyielding wall between Emmett and the girl he thought he knew better than anyone.
He sat at his desk late at night, the glow of the screen casting shadows over his tired face. Discord remained open, their chat a one-sided stream of messages—his words stretching downward, unanswered, like echoes fading into an empty cave.
Emmett: Two weeks now. I don’t know what’s happening.
Emmett: Just one word, Avegail. Please.
Emmett: Did I do something wrong? Did I scare you?
Emmett: I can take it if you don’t feel the same anymore, but don’t leave me in silence.
Each message felt like carving pieces of himself out and tossing them into the void. And the void never gave them back.
The longer it lasted, the harder it became to hold on to the sweetness of their memories.
At first, he clung to them—the night she whispered I love you, the firefly clearing, the way she doodled their characters together. But as the days passed without her, those same memories twisted into something sharp.
Had she meant it when she said she loved him? Or had it been just words, thrown into the night because it felt good in the moment? Had their promises about meeting, about coffee dates and real benches under real skies, been nothing but fantasy?
He hated doubting her. But doubt was all he had left.
In AFK, he began to avoid their house. It hurt too much to step inside, to see the mismatched furniture they had chosen together. Instead, he roamed the world aimlessly, taking on quests alone.
Other guild members noticed.
“Man, where’s Lunaria?” MiraBell asked again during a dungeon run.
“Busy,” Emmett said quickly, his voice clipped.
“She’s been busy for half a month?” MiraBell pressed. “Sounds like something happened.”
“Drop it,” he snapped, harsher than he intended.
There was an awkward silence before MiraBell muttered, “Alright, alright. Just asking.”
Emmett felt the weight of guilt sink into him, but he couldn’t bring himself to apologize. He was tired of everyone noticing what he already knew: Avegail was gone.
Nights blurred together.
He’d lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every detail of their last conversations. Had there been signs? Had she hesitated when she said she loved him? Had her laughter been thinner, her silences longer? He searched for cracks in their perfect picture, desperate for an explanation.
But no matter how many times he rewound their story in his mind, he couldn’t find the moment where she slipped away.
And that made it worse.
One night, anger boiled over.
He sat at his desk, fingers trembling as he typed, each word sharp and jagged.
Emmett: You said you loved me. Do you even realize what those words meant to me? How much I believed in them?
Emmett: If you didn’t mean it, you should’ve just said so.
Emmett: If you’re done with me, fine. Just say it. Don’t vanish and leave me guessing.
His finger hovered over the Enter key, heart pounding. Then he hit send.
The words glared back at him in stark white text.
For hours, he stared at the chat window, half terrified she would reply, half terrified she wouldn’t.
No reply came.
The next day, regret gnawed at him. What if she wasn’t ignoring him? What if something had happened to her—something serious? What if she was sick, or struggling, or worse, and here he was lashing out like a selfish child?
He deleted his last message, though he knew it was too late. She hadn’t read any of them. The gray icon beside her name remained unchanged, unmoving.
Still, the anger lingered beneath the guilt. A storm inside him, circling endlessly.
The guild began to feel like a cage. Every joke, every raid, every idle chat reminded him of her absence. MiraBell whispered to him one night, “You’re not yourself, Em. Maybe take a break?”
He almost laughed. A break? Gaming had been his escape, his refuge. But now it was haunted. Everywhere he went in AFK, he saw her shadow. The fountain where they first met. The forest where they farmed together. The pier where they fished in silence.
The world that once felt alive because of her now felt empty without her.
Three weeks passed. Then four.
Emmett stopped counting days. He moved through them like a ghost, logging in mechanically, logging out with the same hollow ache.
And though he never admitted it aloud, a thought had begun to settle in his mind like poison:
Maybe she was never coming back.
One night, sitting in their hidden clearing, he whispered into the microphone even though he wasn’t streaming his voice anywhere. Just into the silence.
“You broke me, Avegail. You really did.”
The fireflies drifted across the screen, indifferent as always.
He clenched his fists, his voice thick. “I trusted you. I believed you. And now I don’t even know if you’re alive or if you just… changed your mind.”
His throat tightened. Tears threatened, but he forced them back.
“Was it all just a game to you? Because it wasn’t to me. You were real. You still are. And if I was just a screen to you, then… God, I wish you’d just told me.”
He closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair, and for the first time since Avegail disappeared, he didn’t whisper that he would wait.
Because waiting hurt too much.
- Writer
