I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the flickering candle that cast shadows against the rough-hewn walls of my cabin. The night outside was silent, the kind of silence that made you strain your ears just to catch a whisper of sound. It was the kind of night that reminded me of Aimee, of the nights we spent together under the same roof, the warmth of her presence seeping into my bones like a soothing balm.
But now, that warmth was gone, and in its place was a cold, aching emptiness that gnawed at me from the inside. I hadn't seen Aimee in months, and every day without her was like a fresh wound that refused to heal. I missed everything about her—the way her laugh could fill a room, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about something she loved, the way her scent lingered on my clothes long after she was gone.
