I didn't eat that night. Couldn't.

The thought of food felt strange—out of place somehow—like trying to laugh at a joke you didn't understand. My stomach was hollow, but it wasn't hunger. I just sat on my bed, the tray of untouched leftovers from earlier still on my desk, while I scrolled through my phone.

Her pictures filled the screen, one after another, each swipe pulling me in deeper. Val laughing in the campus garden. Val pretending to glare when I stole her fries. Val's hand half-covering her face when I teased her for being "too perfect" for a candid shot.

And then the videos—her voice spilling through my speakers like she was still here, in the room. A giggle. A sarcastic remark. That little tilt of her head when she was about to say something smart and knew she was right.

I smiled. I laughed, even. But it didn't stop the ache that twisted low in my chest, heavy and restless, like something alive clawing at me from the inside.

She wasn't gone forever. It wasn't like that. She'd be back. She promised. And I believed her. Still, knowing didn't stop my heart from aching.

Sleep came late.

When it did, it was thin, restless. I tossed, turned, woke up at odd hours, only to drift back down again. And when the morning finally crept in, soft light pressing through the curtains, my body moved on instinct.

My arm stretched across the bed, reaching for her. For the warmth that should've been there.

But there was nothing. Just cold sheets and an ache that cut sharper because I'd forgotten, even for a second, that she wasn't by my side anymore.

My eyes blinked open, sluggish and heavy, and it hit me all over again. She wasn't here. She wasn't going to be, not today, not tomorrow. Not for a long while.

I lay there a moment longer, staring at the ceiling, listening to the emptiness of the room.

Forcing myself up, I stumbled to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and let the water run over me. It didn't wash away the heaviness. Nothing could.

When I came out, a towel was draped around my shoulders, drops of water still sliding down my hair, when my phone rang. The sound startled me—sharp and sudden in the silence.

I froze. Then saw the name flash across the screen.

The Love of My Life ❤️❤️ Celestia Valentina Moreau.

My heart leapt. My hands moved before my brain did, snatching the phone up as if the call would vanish if I hesitated even a second.

"Morning, husband," Val's face filled the screen, her smile bright, her tone smug.

Relief crashed into me like a wave. I couldn't stop my own smile. "Morning, love."

Her brows lifted, her head tilting in mock surprise. "Love? That's new."

I shrugged lightly, tugging the towel around my shoulders. "I mean, you keep calling me husband. It's only fair."

Her lips curved into that dangerous smirk—the one that always meant trouble. "Mm. Maybe I should go away more often. Look at you, finally calling me love."

I groaned. "Oh, please."

"What?" She widened her eyes, voice teasing. "I've been gone what—" she checked something off-screen dramatically—"a few hours? And you're already slipping. Who knows? By Friday, you'll be calling me wife."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Don't push your luck."

She giggled, clearly pleased with herself, before leaning back against a pillow.

"So. How's London?" I asked, softening.

Her smile dimmed, just slightly, a flicker of honesty slipping through. "It's… normal. I'll adapt."

I nodded, firm. "Of course you will. You're Val."

Her eyes narrowed instantly, sharp as ever. "Somehow, I find that offensive."

I blinked. "What? How—" I broke into a laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. "That was a compliment."

"Mhm." She tilted her chin, pretending to deliberate. "I'll let it slide because I love you."

And just like that, the ache cracked. My chest felt lighter, fuller. I smiled without even realizing it, forgetting about the weight I'd been carrying all night.

She leaned closer to the camera. "So. What are you eating for breakfast?"

I froze. "Well… I—" My hand scratched the back of my neck, betraying me.

Her eyes narrowed instantly, suspicion written all over her face. "Don't tell me it's soggy noodles."

I frowned, indignant. "It's not soggy."

Her gasp was theatrical, hand to her chest. "So I was right. It is noodles."

"I didn't say—"

She cut me off, laughing. "Cook something else, Kai. Anything but noodles."

"What do you suggest, then?" I challenged.

Her eyes gleamed mischievously, that glint I knew too well. She tapped her chin, pretending to think hard before her lips curved. "Hmm… how about beef Wellington? With truffle shavings. And don't forget the perfectly folded puff pastry."

I blinked at her, deadpan. "Val, that's a Michelin star dish."

Her smirk widened like she'd just won a game.

I stared at her. "…You know I can't cook that."

She broke into a grin, giggling as her shoulders shook. "Okay, fine. What about… hmm…" She tapped her chin dramatically, then lit up. "Pancakes. With fruit on top."

I blinked. "…That's actually perfect."

She leaned back smugly. "You're welcome."

Before I could say anything else, a knock sounded faintly from her end. "Celestia, the package is here," a muffled voice called.

Val's lips pressed together. "Give me a minute!" she shouted back.

Her expression shifted the moment the voice faded, her eyes softening, a pout tugging at her mouth. "I've… gotta go." Her voice was quieter now, almost reluctant.

My own smile faltered, the ache creeping back. But I forced myself to keep it steady. "Sure. Tell Duchess Daddy said hi."

That earned me another smile, a little brighter. "Of course I will."

We lingered there, neither of us moving. A silence stretched between us, heavy and unwilling. It felt like we were both waiting for the other to end it, hoping if we stayed long enough, the call wouldn't have to end at all.

Finally, she broke it. She pressed her lips to the screen in an exaggerated kiss. "Love you." And before I could respond, the call ended.

The room was silent again.

And just like that, everything I'd shaken off while talking to her—the laughter, the lightness, the way my chest felt full—slipped away. The ache came back, sharper now, amplified.

I sat there, staring at the blank screen in my hand, as the silence pressed in again.

---

The house was too still, the way it always was when she wasn't in it. So to distract myself, I decided to do what Val had said. Pancakes. Something simple. Something that felt like her.

I rolled up my sleeves after dressing up, stepped into the kitchen, and pulled open the fridge. My chest tightened when I saw it—every shelf was neatly stacked, not half-empty like it usually was when it was just me. Eggs, milk, butter, and more fruit than I could count. Of course. She'd thought ahead, filled it to the brim before she left so I wouldn't lack a single thing.

Not what I might need—what I would need. Because that's who Val was. She always prepared for me, even when I didn't know how much I'd miss her touches until they weren't there.

I swallowed the ache and pulled out the eggs, milk, and a carton of strawberries. Strawberries felt right—fresh, bright, the kind of fruit she'd probably scold me for forgetting to wash properly. I set everything out and started mixing.

The rhythm of it helped. Beating the batter, pouring it onto the hot pan, watching it bubble before flipping. Familiar motions that took me out of my head, even if only for a moment. By the time I stacked the pancakes high, sliced the strawberries into neat little halves, and brewed a pot of tea, the kitchen smelled almost like a home again.

I carried the plate to the table, sat down, and ate in silence. No teasing voice across from me, no playful hums or smug little smirks when I got syrup on my hand. Just me and the quiet.

The pancakes tasted fine. But they weren't Val's.

When I was done, I washed the dishes slowly, dragging it out, as if scrubbing plates and rinsing mugs could stretch time, keep me busy enough to ignore the hollow space in the apartment.

Afterward, I wandered into the living room, dropped onto the couch, and reached for the remote. Maybe a movie would fill the quiet. Something light. Something that didn't remind me of the way her laughter always filled the space.

But I barely got comfortable when a knock came at the door.

I frowned. I wasn't expecting anyone. Not delivery, not a neighbor—no one knew to come by.

Pushing myself up, I walked to the door. My hand hesitated on the handle for just a second before I pulled it open.

And froze.

Avery stood there, framed by the doorway. She looked softer than I remembered, her expression caught somewhere between hesitant and careful. Her voice was quiet when she spoke.

] "Hi."

For a beat, I just stared, my mind refusing to catch up with what my eyes were seeing. Out of all the people who could've been standing here, out of all the doors she could've been knocking on—why mine?

Why here? Why now?

---

To be continued...

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