The Thread Between Us

Elena touched down in Paris beneath a sky washed with twilight. The city, buzzing and alive, unfolded like a romantic film reel—cobblestone streets, golden lights, and music floating from corner cafés. Yet her chest ached with something fierce and quiet.

She should've felt excited. New job, new city, a dream finally realized. But as the taxi took her to her temporary apartment, all she could think about was Aidan—his laugh, his terrible coffee, the way he kissed her like she was home.

The apartment was cozy, neat, and far too quiet. She tossed her suitcase aside and opened her laptop, instinctively clicking into her emails. There, blinking at the top, was a new message.

From: Aidan Wolfe

Subject: So, about those croissants…

If you don't FaceTime me tomorrow morning, I'm flying out there and dragging you into the Louvre myself. I miss you already. Also, I left my hoodie in your suitcase on purpose. You're welcome.

Elena laughed, a small, sweet sound, before she turned around and found the hoodie exactly where he said it would be. She pulled it over her head, drowning in his scent and warmth.

Back home, Aidan stood in the bookstore with his phone against his ear, listening to Elena's voicemail.

"You're annoying, Aidan. And I already ate all the croissants without you. Call you tomorrow?"

He smiled like an idiot. "Damn right you will," he whispered into the phone, though she couldn't hear it.

In the days that followed, they found a rhythm.

Late-night calls. Shared playlists. Snapped photos of coffee cups and city views. It wasn't the same, but it was something. A thread stretched across time zones, tying them together with invisible knots.

But even threads can fray.

Two weeks into her new job, Elena was pulled into a storm of deadlines, clients, and endless demands. She missed a call. Then two. Then three.

Aidan felt it in his gut—something shifting. Something slipping.

When she finally called back, her voice was tired. Hollow.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Everything's just… a lot."

"I get it," he replied. "But don't shut me out. Not now."

She hesitated. "I'm scared again, Aidan."

"Then let me be the one thing you're not afraid of."

Silence.

Then: "Okay."

But it was a thin okay. One made of glass.

And as they hung up, both of them stared at their screens, wondering how love survives when miles stretch and time eats away at good intentions.