The days were starting to blend into each other, like watercolors on a canvas left out in the rain. Ellie stared at her phone again. No new messages. No missed calls. Just the same empty lock screen and the same old ache in her chest.
It had been three days since Ady last replied.
They weren't classmates. They hadn't even met in person. Just two people who found each other online, clinging to long conversations and midnight calls that made them feel like the distance didn't matter.
But now? Now it felt like it mattered more than anything.
Since summer vacation started, things had changed. Ady had told her he was planning to find a part-time job during break to help fund his studies for third year. He wanted to save up, help his parents, be responsible. Ellie admired that about him. He never complained, never made excuses.
But somewhere along the way, his messages got shorter. His replies came hours late. Then days.
And Ellie… she was starting to feel like a stranger again.
"Are you okay?" Ashley asked one afternoon as they shared halo-halo at a small stall by the baywalk.
Ellie forced a smile. "Yeah. Just hot."
Ashley raised an eyebrow. "You've been weird lately. It's not just the weather."
Ellie didn't respond. What could she say? That she missed someone she hadn't even met? That she felt like a ghost in someone's life who once made her feel so seen?
Ashley didn't push. She just sipped her drink and watched the waves.
Ady was busy. That much was clear. He told her he got hired at a tech repair shop. Six days a week. Full shifts. He mentioned he was also working on himself—trying to get better at chess, picking up his guitar again, and preparing for academic stuff.
It was everything Ellie admired about him. Ambition. Drive. Discipline.
But no matter how much she tried to remind herself of that, it still hurt.
The silence. The distance. The waiting.
One night, Ellie opened their chat, her thumbs hovering above the keyboard.
"Hey… miss you. How's work?"
She deleted it.
"I know you're busy. Just wondering how you are."
Deleted again.
She ended up typing a simple:
"Hope you're doing okay."
She hit send. Then waited. A day passed. Then another.
No reply.
She didn't cry, not this time. She just felt… empty. Like a balloon slowly losing air.
Her days became repetitive. Wake up. Scroll. Eat. Lie down. Stare at the ceiling. Repeat.
Sometimes she tried distracting herself with her own hobbies—painting, reading, even learning to bake with her cousin. But nothing filled the void.
Because at the end of the day, she still wanted to talk to him. To hear his voice. To know she still mattered.
But slowly, that hope started to shrink.
Ken, her cousin, noticed the change in her.
"You okay?" he asked one evening as they sat on the porch, sharing a plate of manggang hilaw.
"Yeah," Ellie lied.
Ken didn't believe her. "You know, it's okay to admit you miss him."
She looked down. "What if he doesn't miss me back?"
Ken sighed. "Then you let him go. No point holding onto someone who's not reaching for you."
One day, Ady finally replied.
"Hey Ellie, sorry. Work's been crazy. Just got home. Hope you're good. Miss you."
She stared at the message.
Miss you.
It used to feel warm. Now it felt like an echo.
"Can we call soon?" she replied.
He answered an hour later.
"Soon. I promise."
That word again.
Soon.
The next day, she saw him post a short video of him playing guitar. The comments were full of praise. Ellie liked the post but said nothing.
She used to be the one he sent drafts to. The one who heard the songs before the rest of the world. Now she was just another viewer.
She tried to remind herself: He's trying. He's building something.
But still… she felt left behind.
In her journal, she wrote:
"He's doing great. He's becoming the man he wants to be. And I'm proud of him. But I don't know if there's still space for me in that life."
"I want to help him. Support him. But I don't know how to reach him anymore."
"Maybe I'm not what he needs. Maybe I never was."
The next time he messaged, it was shorter.
"Hey, sorry. Fell asleep after work. I'll try to make time tomorrow."
Try to make time.
Ellie closed the chat.
She started to wonder if this was still love, or just a version of it she kept convincing herself to believe in.
That night, she typed a message:
"Can we really do this? Long-term? This distance?"
She didn't send it.
Not yet.
Instead, she sat quietly, the unsent message glowing on her screen, and listened to the sound of the summer rain tapping against her window. A sound that reminded her she was still here. Still waiting.
Still holding on.