The Distance Between Heartbeats

The morning sunlight filtered through Elena's apartment, golden and soft, but it didn't warm the hollowness in her chest. She stared at her suitcase lying open on the bed. Clothes half-packed. Plane ticket unread.

Returning home meant confronting the feelings she'd buried beneath deadlines and long nights. But it also meant him—Aidan.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Elena?" It was her co-worker, Claire. "You're not coming to the meeting?"

"I—I'm leaving," she said without turning around. "I booked my flight. I'm going back."

Claire paused before stepping into the room. "Is this about him?"

"It's about me," Elena whispered. "It's about remembering who I am when I'm with him—and who I don't want to forget to be."

Claire gave a soft smile. "Then go. Don't wait until the spaces between you are too wide to close."

---

Meanwhile, back in her hometown, Aidan stood in front of his easel. The painting in front of him was unfinished. Just like the words he never got to say when she left.

But today, something stirred in him. Not closure. Hope.

He grabbed his keys.

He didn't know if she'd arrive that night, or the next day, or at all—but he went to the little house they once talked about renting. The one by the lake, with ivy creeping up the side and dreams still clinging to its porch.

He stood on the steps and waited.

And when the cab finally pulled up—dust swirling in the golden hour—his heart skipped.

Elena stepped out slowly, eyes locking with his.

Neither of them moved.

Then, she walked forward. No suitcases. Just her.

He opened his arms.

She didn't run. She didn't hesitate.

She just fell into him like she had always belonged there.

"You're home," he whispered.

And this time, she stayed.