"You’re my perfect match," he told her one evening, lying on the grass in a park, watching the stars.
"And you're mine," she replied, resting her head on his shoulder.
"It's like Cupid finally got his aim right."
"He just took his sweet time, didn't he?"
"Worth the wait, wouldn't you say?"
"Every second."
They started planning a future together, small dreams at first – a weekend getaway, a new recipe to try. Then bigger ones – a cozy apartment, a shared studio space. Their love felt invincible, a fortress against the world’s uncertainties.
Then came the phone call that shattered their perfect world. Maya’s mother, her voice trembling, delivered the news. Maya's grandmother in England had suffered a severe stroke.
She needed constant care, and Maya, being the only close relative without other immediate family obligations, was the only one who could go.
"I have to go, Ethan," she said, her eyes brimming with tears.
"She needs me."
Ethan felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. "For how long?"
"I don't know. It could be months, even years. Until she recovers, or…" Her voice trailed off, too choked to continue.
He pulled her into a tight embrace, trying to absorb her pain, his own heart breaking.
"We'll make it work, Maya. We'll find a way."
"But how?" she whispered, pulling back slightly.
"It's so far. The time difference. Our jobs…"
"We'll video call every day. I'll visit. You'll visit. We'll make it work, I promise." His voice was firm, but inside, a seed of doubt had been planted.
The goodbye at the airport was agonizing. Ethan held her tightly, inhaling her scent, trying to imprint every detail of her onto his memory.
"I love you, Ethan," she whispered, her voice cracking.
"I love you more, Maya. Don't forget that."
"Never."
The first few weeks of their long-distance relationship were a testament to their love. They had their daily video calls, often falling asleep with the call still connected, the silent presence of each other a small comfort across the miles. They sent each other silly gifts, handwritten letters, and endless messages.
"How was your day?" Ethan would ask.
"Busy. Grandma's improving a little, thankfully," she’d reply.
"That's great news! I miss you like crazy."
"Me too. So much."
But as weeks bled into months, the strain began to show. The time difference made spontaneous calls difficult.
Their busy schedules often clashed, leaving them with fleeting moments of connection. The physical distance, once an abstract concept, became a tangible wall.
"Did you get my message?" Ethan asked one night, a hint of frustration in his voice.
"Oh, I saw it, but I was just about to put Grandma to bed. And then I forgot," Maya admitted, sounding tired.
"It feels like we're just talking past each other lately," he said, the words heavy in the air.
"I know. I'm sorry, Ethan. It's just… a lot here."
"I understand. I really do." But a part of him didn’t. He felt increasingly alone, his life once again devoid of the vibrant connection he’d found with Maya.
