It had been six and a half months since I'd left his house, and still, the silence felt unnatural.
Not just the silence in the apartment, but the kind that settled into the corners of my days—soft and persistent, like dust. I filled the space with music sometimes, but it never helped—not really.
There was still something missing—or rather, someone.
Mark's voice.
Not even the meaningful things, just... his presence. The low murmur when he was on a call across the room, the sharp tap of his fingers against a keyboard, the occasional sarcastic remark tossed my way when we disagreed on something minor. I'd never realised how much of my rhythm had aligned itself with his until it all stopped.
