Two months had passed.

Arjun's phone buzzed with an automated "Good morning" message. Shruthi had started scheduling her texts - 6:00 AM IST sharp - as if routine could substitute presence. But Arjun wasn't fooled. He missed the randomness of her voice. The impulsive 2:17 AM "Are you awake?" or "I just saw a squirrel on a skateboard" kind of messages.

She was still there - in the digital sense. Video calls on Sundays. Photos of the new apartment she'd rented in San Jose. Occasional memes. But there was a quiet shift in tone.

She laughed less.

He shared less.

Their silences stretched longer.

One night, while she was rushing between meetings, Arjun said, "I was thinking of picking up travel photography again."

She didn't even look up. "That's nice."

No, "Where?"

No, "Send me pictures."

No spark in her voice like before.

He closed the laptop early that night.

Across the ocean, Shruthi lay on her couch, staring at her phone. Her heart ached with guilt. Work consumed her. The timezone difference robbed her of shared evenings. And every time Arjun called during her lunch, she was either in a meeting or just too drained to talk.

But she missed him. Badly.

The food didn't taste right without his silly reviews. The long walks after work felt too quiet. Even the heater's hum reminded her of the buzz of Chennai and the comfort of home.

She tried to sound cheerful during calls, tried to ask about his day, but something about his eyes on screen made her feel like a stranger - like the miles weren't just physical anymore.

She hugged her pillow and whispered, "I'm still here? don't drift away."

But the echoes had already begun.

Here's the next chapter in their journey: