Part 2 of Get Up
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Hanni's POV:
The silence in the apartment was deafening.
It wasn't the peaceful kind; this silence vibrated with unspoken words and the heavy weight of Y/N's absence.
It had been two weeks since he'd asked for space, two weeks since he'd looked at me with those tired, disappointed eyes and said, "I need some space."
His words echoed through the empty space, mingling with the guilt gnawing at my insides.
I'd been so caught up in my own world, my own goals and aspirations, that I'd failed to see how my actions, or rather, the lack thereof, were affecting him.
I replayed our conversations, the missed cues, the times I'd dismissed his feelings or brushed aside his need for connection.
It was like a punch to the gut, realizing how self-absorbed I'd become.
Somewhere along the way, I'd stopped seeing him, truly seeing him, and appreciating the incredible person he is.
The guilt morphed into a steely determination. I missed his warmth, his humor, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.
I missed everything about him, and I wouldn't let my own blindness cost me our relationship.
This wasn't a time for pride, it was time for change.
I started small. I cleared my schedule, freeing up evenings we used to spend together.
I remembered him mentioning a new cafe he wanted to try and made a reservation.
Next, I tackled the bigger things. I took a step back from the demanding project at work that had been consuming most of my time and energy.
I started actively listening when he called, putting down my phone and giving him my undivided attention.
Each day, I made a conscious effort to show him how much I cared.
I sent him small, thoughtful gifts – a book by his favorite author, a playlist of songs that reminded me of him.
I left him handwritten notes filled with words of affirmation and appreciation.
I made sure that every action, every gesture, screamed, "You are important to me," because he was. He was everything.
***
Y/N's POV:
The first few days after I left were a blur of conflicting emotions.
Relief from the stifling weight of feeling unseen, but also a piercing loneliness I hadn’t anticipated.
The silence in my temporary apartment wasn't peaceful either; it was an unwelcome reminder of Hanni's absence, of the comfortable rhythm of our life together that was now disrupted.
I tried to focus on myself, throwing myself into work, catching up with friends I hadn’t seen in a while.
They were supportive, their concern a testament to how obvious my unhappiness had become.
"You deserve to feel loved and appreciated, Y/N," my friend Jiwoo had said, her brow furrowed with concern. "Don’t settle for anything less."
Her words resonated deeply. I knew she was right. But a part of me, a large part, still ached for Hanni.
Despite the hurt, the frustration, the feeling of being invisible, I loved her.
Then, the unexpected happened. Little things started to change. I woke up to a text from Hanni, a simple "Good morning," followed by a heart emoji. It wasn’t much, but it was more than I’d been getting for weeks.
