The boxes were already half-stacked by the time Ethan arrived. Lina had been up since dawn, carefully wrapping her life into cardboard corners, sorting through what to keep and what to leave behind. Her small apartment—once filled with scattered books and coffee-stained sketchpads—felt like a stranger’s space now.
When the knock came, it wasn’t unexpected. But her heart still stuttered.
She opened the door to see Ethan standing there in a plain grey hoodie, sleeves rolled up, his hair a little messier than usual. He smiled in that boyish way that always made her heart trip over itself.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” she echoed, stepping aside.
He stepped in, his gaze sweeping over the boxes. “You weren’t kidding. You really did all the hard parts without me.”
“I wanted to,” she replied. “Helps me think.”
Ethan nodded. “Well, I brought coffee and snacks. Thought you might forget to eat.”
She didn’t say it, but she hadn’t eaten. She never did when she was trying to keep herself from falling apart.
They spent the next hour quietly packing. He taped boxes, she labeled them. Occasionally, they’d laugh over something—an old photo, a drawing she forgot she’d made. It was comfortable, the way it had always been. Too comfortable.
When the last box was sealed, Ethan leaned back against the kitchen counter. “So… this is really happening.”
“Yeah,” Lina said, folding the final piece of tape. “New job. New neighborhood. Fresh start.”
He nodded. “I’m happy for you.”
She looked at him then, really looked. The way his eyes crinkled a little when he smiled. The faint scar near his eyebrow from when he fell off his bike in high school. The way he had always, always shown up.
“Thanks for helping,” she said softly.
“Of course,” he replied without hesitation. “You know I’d always—”
She cut him off gently. “I know.”
Silence fell between them. Not awkward, but thick with all the things they’d never said.
“I’ll miss this place,” he said after a while. “It’s been... ours. Kind of.”
Lina felt that. Deeply. Her throat tightened. “Yeah.”
He stepped closer, eyes searching hers. “You okay?”
She hesitated. “I will be.”
His hand grazed her arm, and it took everything in her not to lean into it. But she didn’t. Not this time.
Instead, she stepped back and smiled. “I have something for you.”
She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a small envelope.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“A drawing,” she said. “Of that coffee shop you like. I thought maybe you could hang it above your desk or something.”
He opened it slowly, eyes softening as he looked at the delicate lines and warm colors.
“Lina… this is beautiful.”
She shrugged. “It’s just a sketch.”
“No,” he said. “It’s you. Thoughtful. Quiet. Always paying attention.”
And there it was again—that tenderness. The kind that made her want to believe. But she couldn’t. Not anymore.
“Thank you,” he said, and when he looked at her, it was like they were standing on the edge of something.
She smiled, small and bittersweet. “You’ve always been good to me, Ethan. More than I probably deserved.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I mean it,” she said. “Even when it hurt… you were still kind. That’s something I won’t forget.”
He stepped forward like he wanted to say more—but she moved first, walking to the door and holding it open.
“It’s getting late,” she said gently.
Ethan lingered for a second longer, the drawing still in his hands.
“If you ever need anything—”
“I know,” she interrupted softly. “But maybe… maybe it’s okay if I don’t.”
He didn’t respond. Just nodded.
She smiled once more, eyes brimming but dry. “Take care of her, okay?”
His expression faltered, but he nodded again. “I will.”
And then, she closed the door.
Not with anger. Not with regret. Just finality.
She stood there for a moment, her hand still on the handle, listening to his footsteps fade down the hallway. The apartment was quiet now. Still. Empty, but not hollow.
She exhaled, long and steady.
For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was waiting.
She felt like she was moving.
