Perfectly Arranged

-60- Triplets

[Triplets]

Third person's pov

The scent of turpentine and acrylics still clung to Freen’s clothes even after hours spent in the university studio.  Her Masters in Arts and Design was demanding, pushing her creativity to its limits.  Across campus, Becky, immersed in the world of media communication, was equally challenged by her own Masters program.  Their schedules rarely aligned, but the promise of a safe walk home together, a shared ritual, anchored their busy lives.

One crisp evening, Freen found herself waiting at the familiar gate.  The late afternoon sun casts long shadows, painting the scene in hues of orange and purple.  She tapped her foot impatiently, her sketchbook tucked under her arm, a half-finished design swirling in her mind.  Becky arrived, breathless from a rushed lecture, a relieved smile lighting up her face at the sight of Freen.

The walk home was filled with the usual chatter –  a shared anecdote about a particularly challenging professor, a spirited debate about a trending topic, the comfortable silence of shared understanding.  As they reached Becky’s house, the familiar key turned in the lock.  But this time, something was different.

The living room was bathed in the soft glow of a single candle, its flickering light dancing on a small table set for two.  Two plates, meticulously arranged, held nothing but the promise of a meal to come.  A gasp escaped Becky’s lips.  On the table, nestled between the plates, lay a letter, its elegant script hinting at the contents within.

With trembling hands, Becky unfolded the letter.  Freen’s familiar handwriting filled the page, each word carefully chosen.  It spoke of late nights in the studio, fueled by coffee and inspiration, of the overwhelming pressure of her studies, and the guilt of not being able to spend as much time with Becky as she wished.  It spoke of a "casual" scenario, a carefully worded phrase that danced around the unspoken confession that hung between them.  It wasn't a grand declaration of love, but a quiet promise – a vow to work harder, to win Becky back, not with words, but with actions.

---------------------------------------------------

My dearest Becky,

By the time you read this, I hope the scent of the candle has filled our home with a warmth that mirrors the feelings in my heart.  I know these past few months have been… different.  The demands of my Masters program have consumed me, leaving little time for anything else, especially for you, and for that, I am truly sorry.

I haven't been present in the way you deserve back then. My focus has been solely on different people and scenarios and in doing so, I've neglected the most important thing in my life: you.  I know a simple "sorry" isn't enough, still not enough—and I wouldn't even try to offer one if it weren't for the truth of my feelings.

This isn't a grand confession, not a dramatic declaration of love.  It's a quiet promise.  We called it a "casual" scenario, when we were in the hospital, but if you will give– a chance to start over, to rebuild the connection we’ve both cherished.  It's a chance for me to show you, not tell you, how much you mean to me.

I'll work harder.  Not just on my degree, but on us.  I'll make time for you, for our shared laughter, for the quiet moments of connection that we both value.  I'll be more present, more attentive, more… me.

I hope you can understand.  I hope you can forgive me, again. 

With all my love,