Tapestry of Heart

Chapter 1

Serena POV

The sun was setting behind the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink as I trudged up the familiar path to our apartment. The chatter of students and the clatter of books echoed behind me, a stark contrast to the silence that loomed ahead. I had just wrapped up another gruelling day at university, and the weight of my coursework pressed heavily on my shoulders. The MBA program was demanding, and Tristian's relentless ambition only added to my sense of urgency.

As I stepped into the apartment, the cool air washed over me, but it did little to ease my fatigue. I kicked off my shoes and leaned against the door for a moment, allowing myself a brief reprieve. The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint sound of music playing in the background. I let out a sigh, a mixture of exhaustion and anticipation.

"Hey, you're home!" Tristian's voice cut through the silence, bright and cheerful. He emerged from the kitchen, his hair slightly dishevelled, a grin plastered across his handsome face. The sight of him always made my heart flutter, but today, the warmth of his smile felt like a flickering candle fighting against the cold winds of my tiredness.

"Hey," I replied, forcing a smile as I dropped my bag on the couch. "How was your day?"

"Same old," he said, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. "Just wrapped up a few group projects and went over some notes. You know how it is."

"Yeah," I said, suppressing a yawn. "I just finished a presentation on market trends, and it drained me."

Tristian's gaze shifted toward the stove, and his smile widened. "Perfect timing! I was hoping you could whip up something for dinner. I'm starving."

I paused, the request hanging in the air like an unspoken expectation. "Um, sure. What do you want?" My voice felt small as if I were tiptoeing around the unspoken weight of my devotion.

"Maybe some pasta? You know my favourite." His tone was light, but beneath it, I sensed a hint of impatience.

"Of course," I said, forcing myself to move toward the kitchen. I opened the pantry, my heart sinking a little as I reached for the ingredients. Cooking had become a comforting ritual for me, a way to express my love for him, but lately, it felt more like a duty. I couldn't shake the feeling that my needs were often overshadowed by his expectations.

As I set to work, the sounds of boiling water and clattering pots filled the room, yet my mind wandered to the gulf that had formed between us. I glanced back at Tristian, who was now scrolling through his phone, seemingly lost in another world. My heart ached at the thought that despite my efforts to keep our connection alive, we were drifting.

"Serena, can you add more salt?" he called from the couch, his eyes still glued to the screen.

I bit my lip, swallowing a surge of frustration. "Sure," I said softly, adding a pinch to the bubbling pot. I knew he was focused on his studies, but sometimes, it felt as though I was invisible in the very space we shared.

As the pasta cooked, I reflected on how much I had invested in this relationship. Two years of love, laughter, and late-night talks, yet I often felt like I was the only one holding the weight of our connection. 

Did he even realize how hard I worked to keep us afloat? Or was I simply a convenient presence in his busy life?

"Hey, when do you think we'll have time to talk?" I asked, turning to face him. My heart raced at the thought of broaching the subject that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

He looked up, momentarily distracted from his phone. "Talk? About what?" His expression was casual, but I noticed a flicker of something in his eyes—annoyance, perhaps?