Laika exhaled softly, a smile tugging at her lips as she cradled her warm coffee cup between her hands. The heat seeped into her fingertips, comforting and familiar, a small pleasure in the quiet hum of their favorite downtown café. The air was thick with the scent of roasted beans and vanilla, mingling with the distant murmur of conversations and the soft clinking of ceramic against wood.
Across from her, Ryanne sat with his laptop open, his fingers moving swiftly over the keys, eyes locked onto the glow of the screen. The light reflected off his sharp features, casting a faint shadow under his brow, which was drawn together in quiet concentration. His posture was tense but familiar—forearms braced on the table, shoulders slightly hunched, utterly absorbed in whatever had captured his focus.
This was their Thursday night ritual.
Each week, without fail, they claimed this little corner table by the window, a space that had become theirs in the midst of the city's ever-moving chaos. It was a place where they could exist together yet separately, lost in their own work but comforted by each other's presence. Outside, the city pulsed with life—car horns, laughter, distant music—but inside, there was a different kind of rhythm, one made of shared silences, exchanged glances, and the quiet reassurance that neither of them was truly alone.
Laika flipped through her notes, scanning the latest publications in her field. Every so often, she jotted down a thought, her pen scratching softly against the page. She enjoyed these nights—not just for the productivity, but for the closeness they provided. There was something intimate about existing in parallel with someone you loved, about knowing that even in their separate worlds, they still chose to be near. It was a kind of love she cherished, one that felt steady, grounding.
But tonight, something felt different.
She glanced up and studied Ryanne more closely. His fingers still moved, but there was a hesitancy to them now, a slight pause between keystrokes. His brow furrowed deeper, his jaw tightening in a way she had come to recognize as unease. Lately, he had been like this—distracted, restless, as if there was something just beneath the surface that he wasn't saying.
At first, she had told herself it was work stress, that he would talk when he was ready. He always had before. So she had waited, patient and understanding. But tonight, the air between them felt different—thicker, heavier. Something was about to change.
And then, with a sharp, deliberate click, Ryanne closed his laptop.
He exhaled heavily, the sound breaking through the quiet between them.
Laika stilled, setting her coffee down, her stomach twisting with sudden apprehension.
"Everything alright?" she asked softly, her voice steady despite the way her heart had begun to beat faster.
Ryanne hesitated. His fingers drummed once against the closed laptop, then stilled. He inhaled as if preparing himself, then exhaled again, his shoulders sagging slightly. Finally, he spoke.
"A job offer came in."
The words settled like a weight between them. Laika's fingers curled around the rim of her cup, gripping tighter.
Something in the way he said it—flat, almost resigned—made her chest tighten. She swallowed, forcing herself to ask the question she already knew the answer to.
"Where?"
Ryanne looked down. "Far," he admitted after a long pause. "Better pay. More responsibility. It's a huge step forward for me." He hesitated, then added, "But..."
She finished the sentence for him, her voice barely above a whisper.
"But it means leaving."
Her stomach dropped.
