By: Ameer Ali
They had been together for years, yet the apartment had never felt so quiet.
Every morning, Emma used to make two cups of tea — one with sugar for herself, one without for Daniel. Today, she still boiled the water, still placed the cups side by side, but the second cup stayed untouched.
Daniel sat across from her, his eyes fixed on the steam rising from his cup, as if answers might be hidden there. They used to talk about everything: dreams, fears, silly little things like why the toaster always burnt his bread. Now their words came in short, careful sentences, afraid of touching the real subject — that they had already drifted apart.
The love hadn’t disappeared all at once; it had leaked away quietly, like water from a cracked vase. They still cared, but the warmth had gone cold. What hurt most was that neither of them had done something terribly wrong — they had simply stopped reaching for each other.
Emma sipped her tea, feeling the familiar burn on her tongue. She wondered if this was how their love had ended: not with a storm, but with two people sipping in silence, waiting for a goodbye that neither dared to say.
