I spent hours each day staring at my phone, willing it to buzz with a message from him, checking my inbox obsessively, hoping for a sign that he hadn't forgotten me. The silence was suffocating, wrapping around me like a shroud. I tried to push the thoughts away, to distract myself with work or anything else, but they kept creeping back in, relentless and unforgiving.
Sleep became elusive, my nights filled with restless tossing and turning as I replayed our last conversation over and over in my mind, searching for any hint that something was wrong, something I might have missed. But there was nothing. Just the cold, empty silence that followed.
And then there was the gnawing guilt.
What if he was in trouble, and I was just sitting here, doing nothing?
What if he needed help, and I was too afraid to reach out, to cross the lines that separated us?
The thought tormented me, twisting the knife of worry even deeper.
But what choice did I have?
