The days after the lake trip felt fleeting, like grains of sand slipping through an hourglass. Lia's departure loomed ever closer, and with each tick of the clock, Nate felt the quiet tension between them grow. They tried to pretend everything was normal, but the looming uncertainty shadowed their laughter, making their moments together bittersweet.
One evening, Nate returned to the studio after a meeting about his upcoming joint exhibition. He expected to find Lia sitting in her usual spot, reading or sketching, but the room was empty. Instead, a note was taped to his easel:
"Meet me at the clocktower at 8. Don't be late."
The clocktower was Cedarwood's hidden gem, perched on a hill overlooking the entire town. Its chimes echoed through the streets every hour, and its top floor was rarely open to visitors. Nate arrived just as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and violet.
Lia was waiting at the base of the tower, her arms wrapped around herself to keep warm.
"Hey," Nate said as he approached. "What's all this about?"
She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I thought we could use a little perspective."
Before he could ask what she meant, she grabbed his hand and led him up the winding staircase.
At the top, the town stretched out below them, the twinkling lights resembling a canvas of stars. Lia leaned against the railing, staring out at the horizon.
"I used to come here as a kid," she said softly. "Whenever I felt lost, this place reminded me how small my problems really were. It gave me clarity."
Nate moved closer, his hands gripping the cold metal of the railing. "And now?"
She turned to him, her expression unreadable. "Now, it feels like everything is rushing forward, and I don't know how to keep up. I'm excited for Paris, but... I'm terrified too. What if I mess up? What if I lose everything I've worked for? What if..." Her voice broke. "What if we can't make this work?"
Nate felt the weight of her words settle over him like a storm cloud. He had tried so hard to stay strong, to support her dreams without letting his fears show. But in this moment, standing above the town where they had built so much, he couldn't hold back.
"Lia," he said, his voice raw. "I'm scared too. Not just of the distance, but of losing you. Of waking up one day and realizing that the life we dreamed about has drifted away."
Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn't look away. "Then why haven't you told me that before?"
"Because I don't want to hold you back," he admitted. "You deserve this chance, and I won't be the reason you give it up. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."
The silence that followed was heavy, filled only by the faint hum of the town below. Then Lia stepped closer, reaching for his hand.
"It hurts me too," she whispered. "But if there's one thing I know, it's that I don't want a future without you in it."
Nate's heart clenched. He pulled her into his arms, holding her as if she might slip away at any moment.
The moment was interrupted by the deep, resonant chime of the clocktower bell. The sound vibrated through the air, and they both looked up at the massive clock face above them.
"We're running out of time," Lia said, her voice barely audible over the bell's echo.
Nate swallowed hard. "Then let's make the most of what we have."
Her gaze met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still.
The following days were a blur of preparation. Lia's departure date loomed ever closer, and every interaction felt like it carried the weight of a goodbye. Nate threw himself into finishing his latest piece—a bold, abstract painting filled with swirls of deep blues and fiery reds. It was chaotic, emotional, and unlike anything he'd ever created before.
Lia watched him work one night, her chin resting on her knees. "It's beautiful," she said. "But it feels... heavy."
"That's because it is," Nate replied, not looking up from the canvas.
"What are you going to call it?" she asked.
He paused, the brush hovering in midair. "The Distance Between Us."
Her breath caught, and she looked away, unable to hide the tears welling in her eyes.
The night before her flight, Nate took Lia to their favorite diner. The place was nearly empty, the soft hum of a jukebox filling the quiet. They ordered milkshakes and fries, just like they had on their first unofficial date.
"Do you remember the first time we came here?" Lia asked, a faint smile on her lips.
"Yeah," Nate said, stirring his milkshake with a straw. "You stole half my fries and then had the nerve to ask for dessert."
She laughed, the sound bittersweet. "I think I knew then that you were something special."
Nate reached across the table, taking her hand in his. "I think I knew then that I'd do anything to keep you in my life."
Her smile faltered, and she squeezed his hand tightly. "Promise me something?"
"Anything," he said without hesitation.
"Don't stop painting. No matter what happens, no matter how hard things get... promise me you'll keep creating."
He nodded, his throat too tight to speak.
The next morning, they stood at the airport, the finality of the moment pressing down on them. Lia's suitcase sat by her side, her boarding pass clutched in her hand.
"This isn't goodbye," she said, her voice trembling. "It's just... see you later."
Nate pulled her into one last embrace, memorizing the feel of her, the scent of her hair, the way she fit perfectly in his arms.
"I'll be waiting," he said, his voice breaking.
As she walked away, Nate felt a piece of himself go with her. The terminal swallowed her up, and he stood there long after she disappeared from view, the echoes of her footsteps lingering in his mind.
That night, alone in his studio, Nate stared at the painting he had titled The Distance Between Us. The colors seemed to pulse with life, a reflection of the storm inside him. He picked up his brush and added one final stroke—a streak of gold cutting through the chaos, a symbol of hope piercing the void.
But even as the painting came to life, he couldn't shake the gnawing question in the back of his mind:
Would love be enough to bridge the distance?