The rhythm finally broke.
He called late again, his voice strained. "I can't make it tonight. Another deadline - "
Her silence on the other end was heavier than thunder. "You said that yesterday," she replied, trying to keep her tone even. "And the day before that."
"I know," he sighed. "I'm trying - "
"That's the thing," she cut in. "You're trying at everything but us."
The words landed sharp. He opened his mouth, but the hum of the city outside her window drowned him out. For the first time, their melody faltered.
Later that week, she spotted him through a café window - not their café, a different one - laptop open, coffee cooling, his phone buzzing. He looked tired, older, as though the world was wringing him out. She almost stepped inside, almost pressed her palm to the glass, but something held her back.
At home, she sat in the quiet. No music played. The basil wilted. The silence wasn't peace - it was absence.