Fractures and Futures

The morning started like any other: coffee, a half-eaten bagel, and Ezra flipping through his notes while Talia tried to pin up her unruly hair with a pencil.

Ezra glanced at her over his glasses. "You're going to break that pencil."

"Better the pencil than my will to live," she muttered, finally securing the bun.

He laughed, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Talia noticed.

"You okay?" she asked, crossing the room to kiss his cheek.

Ezra hesitated before nodding. "Yeah. Just… tired."

But he wasn't. Not really. Something else lingered in the silence between them.

That "something" revealed itself later that afternoon.

Talia found Ezra sitting alone outside the library, staring at his phone with an unreadable expression. When he saw her, he quickly locked the screen.

"Spill it," she said, dropping into the seat beside him.

Ezra bit his lip. "I got an email."

"From?"

"Mount Sinai. In New York." He paused. "They're offering me a summer internship. Full research access. Recommendation letters. A straight shot into residency if I play it right."

Talia's heart stuttered. "That's... amazing."

"But?"

"It's two months. Across the country. We'd barely see each other."

And there it was—the fracture.

Small. Invisible. But real.

She didn't speak for a long moment, just stared out across the courtyard. The breeze tugged at the loose strands of her hair, and Ezra watched her like he was memorizing every detail.

"You should go," she said quietly.

Ezra's eyes widened. "What?"

"You've worked your whole life for an opportunity like this. Don't even think about turning it down because of me."

"I'm not choosing between this and you."

"I know," she said. "But sometimes... life doesn't give us both."

The rest of the week passed in a strange fog.

They didn't fight. They didn't cry. They just... avoided the conversation. Pretended everything was fine, like they had more time.

They still did their five minutes each night, but now there was an unspoken clock ticking behind their words.

One night, during their five-minute ritual, Talia finally broke the silence.

"I think I'm scared," she said, eyes on the ceiling. "Not of you leaving. Of what it'll mean if I'm still standing when you come back, and I've changed. Or you have."

Ezra reached for her hand. "Change isn't the enemy."

"No," she whispered. "But distance can be."

Their last night before he left, Ezra brought her a gift.

It was a small box, wrapped in recycled paper from one of their anatomy textbooks. Inside was a necklace—simple, with a tiny silver heart attached.

"I know it's cliché," he said, voice quiet, "but it made me think of you."

She touched the charm gently. "It's not cliché. It's you."

Then she looked up. "We'll be okay, right?"

Ezra kissed her forehead. "We're more than okay. We're choosing each other."

The next morning, she watched him walk away with his suitcase in one hand and a coffee in the other.

No dramatic airport goodbyes. No tears on her cheek.

Just five minutes of silence as she stood by the door, wearing his old hoodie and the necklace he gave her, whispering:

Come back to me.