The new year brought unexpected changes—changes Elara hadn't anticipated and wasn't ready for.
Zeon got an opportunity to work for a growing company in another province. It was a breakthrough for him, a chance to elevate his life, to earn real experience and build something for himself beyond his uncle's driving school.
But it meant relocating.
When he first told her, Elara tried to be happy for him. Tried to celebrate the news. "I'm proud of you," she said, hugging him tightly. But her heart sank even as the words left her mouth.
They were used to seeing each other almost daily. Talking every hour. Now? He didn't even have a phone of his own anymore. His phone had broken beyond repair, and with the financial pressure of relocating, replacing it wasn't an option—not yet. He was using his mother's phone in the meantime, and even that came with limitations.
"Just text me when you can," Elara whispered before he left.
"I will," he promised, holding her face in his hands. "We're going to make this work."
But no amount of promises could prepare her for the silence that followed.
Days passed without hearing from him. Sometimes a week. She found herself constantly checking her phone, refreshing messages, scrolling through old photos, re-reading old chats. The change in her schedule hit her hard.
Going from talking every day to barely communicating was like losing a part of herself. Her routine, her comfort, her peace—it all revolved around him. And now he was miles away, unreachable.
She didn't want to complain. She knew he was working hard, adjusting to a new place, building a new life. But it didn't make the ache any less.
Sometimes, when his mother was home, he'd sneak in a quick call.
"Hey," his voice would come through, crackled and rushed.
"Hi," she'd breathe, her heart leaping just to hear him again.
"I miss you," he'd say every time.
"I miss you too. Every second."
It wasn't much, but they held onto those few minutes like lifelines.
They started writing letters—real handwritten letters. She'd pour her heart onto paper, slide it into envelopes, and send them to his new address. He'd write back, often scribbled during work breaks, telling her about his days, the challenges, the small victories. They both found joy in waiting for the mail. It gave them something to look forward to. Something old-school, something intimate.
Meanwhile, Elara kept herself busy. She started a short course in digital design through a community center. It wasn't what she originally dreamed of, but it kept her moving. It gave her structure.
Nights were the hardest.
She'd lie in bed, scrolling through memories. Some nights she cried silently, holding her pillow tight, pretending it was him. Other nights she'd fall asleep reading his last message, her phone clutched in her hand.
But despite the distance, despite the silence, despite the aching void between them—they didn't let go.
They reminded themselves why they started.
They remembered every shared laugh, every kiss, every promise made under the stars.
When they finally saw each other again after a month, it was overwhelming.
They met at the local taxi rank. She ran into his arms. He held her like it was the first time all over again. They didn't speak for a full minute—just breathed each other in.
"You lost weight," he teased softly.
"You smell like a stranger," she replied, grinning.
"But I'm still yours."
They spent the day together, catching up on everything and nothing. Lying in the grass. Sharing snacks. Laughing over letters. It felt like a short visit to heaven.
The goodbye was harder than the first.
But this time, they were more prepared.
They planned better. Budgeted for airtime. Created email accounts they could access from shared internet cafes. They even set a rule: one voice note a week, no matter how short, no matter how hard.
It wasn't perfect. It was messy, emotional, sometimes frustrating.
But love doesn't always show up in roses and perfect timing.
Sometimes it shows up in handwritten letters. In quick calls from borrowed phones. In holding on when everything feels like it's slipping.
And Elara realized something important:
Sometimes, distance doesn't break a relationship—it reveals its strength.
And theirs?
It was stronger than either of them imagined.