Neal sat on his couch, staring at his phone, the silence on the other end of the line gnawing at him. It had been weeks since he had seen Mia properly, weeks since she had been herself. The distance between them had grown, and with every unanswered message, every curt, neutral response, his worry deepened.
His thumb hovered over the latest text he had sent her:
*Neal: Hey, Mia. You okay? Haven't seen you in a while. Miss you. Wanna grab coffee this week?*
The response had come hours later, short and indifferent:
*Mia: I'm fine. Busy with some things. Maybe another time.*
It was always like that now. Where once they had shared long, heartfelt conversations, now there was nothing but emptiness in her replies. Neal frowned, scrolling through their previous messages:
*Neal: Hey, just checking in. Haven't heard from you in a bit. Everything okay?*
No response.
*Neal: If you need anything, you know I'm here.*
Another message lost to the void.
The weight of concern settled in his chest. Something was wrong—he could feel it. Neal had always been able to read Mia, even in the quiet moments when she tried to hide her feelings. But now, it was as if she had built a wall, one he couldn't seem to break through. It wasn't just the lack of communication; it was the gnawing sense that she was slipping away from him, into something dark and unreachable.
He had crossed paths with her at the gallery a week ago, but she hadn't even seen him. She'd looked right through him, her eyes glazed with exhaustion, her face drawn and pale. She had been wearing a long sweater, her arms tucked tightly into the sleeves, and her usually vibrant presence seemed dimmed, shrouded in a kind of detachment that unnerved him.
At the college, it had been the same. He had spotted her from across the courtyard, standing near a bench, staring into the distance as if lost in some invisible fog. She was thinner now, her clothes hanging a little too loosely on her frame, and her posture—once confident and full of life—was slumped in on itself. Neal had watched her for a moment, hoping she'd notice him, but she never did. She simply walked away, her steps slow and unsteady, disappearing into the crowd.
The sight of her like that stayed with him, a weight he couldn't shake. It wasn't just her physical decline that alarmed him—it was the way she seemed utterly disconnected from everything around her, including him. Mia, who had always been so full of energy and passion, now seemed like a ghost of herself, fading in front of his eyes.
Neal clenched his phone in frustration, wondering how long he could let this go on before stepping in. He couldn't just keep watching her drift further away, not like this. Something had to give. And soon.
YOU ARE READING
The Man of My Dreams
Kurzgeschichten**Synopsis:** In a small town, 21-year-old Mia is enchanted by dreams of a mysterious young man, igniting a longing that feels all too real. When she meets him at an art gallery, their connection is electric, but beneath his charm lies an unsettling...
