The morning after Ella left, Noah woke up and instinctively reached for his phone—only to remember there was no good morning text waiting for him. No funny meme, no little inside joke. Just silence.
He threw the phone onto his nightstand and groaned.
For the first few days, he told himself he was fine. He went to school, joked with friends, pretended nothing had changed.
But then came the moments when he wasn't fine.
When he'd walk past Ella's locker and half expect her to be there.
When he'd scroll through his gallery and see pictures of them laughing.
When he'd hear her favorite song playing and feel his chest tighten.
One night, he picked up his phone, hovering over her contact.
Noah: I miss you.
He stared at the message. Thought about sending it.
And then he deleted it.
If they were going to move on, he had to stop looking back.
New York was everything Ella had imagined—fast-paced, thrilling, and full of opportunities.
Her internship was intense, the city was alive, and she was surrounded by ambitious people who, like her, wanted to make something of themselves.
She should have been happy.
But some nights, she lay awake in her tiny apartment, scrolling through old texts, old photos.
Noah wasn't texting her. He wasn't calling.
And even though she knew this was her choice, the silence hurt.
One evening, after a long day at work, she stared at the skyline and whispered, "Am I really supposed to be here without him?"
But the city didn't answer.