It hurts, doesn't it?

The train station buzzed with life, its symphony of clattering wheels and distant announcements clashing with the silence between them. Claire sat on a cold bench, her grip tight around her bag as if it would stop her world from unraveling. She couldn't look at him. Not yet.

Ethan stood across the platform, his tall frame outlined by the fading glow of the setting sun. His jaw was set, and his hands were buried deep in his pockets, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away. He always knew when something was wrong. That's what had brought him here-uninvited, but not unwelcome.

"You weren't going to tell me." His voice, low and steady, cut through the noise, drawing her gaze despite herself.

Claire swallowed hard. "I didn't know how."

He let out a bitter laugh, the sound startling against the chaos around them. "So, what? You were just going to disappear? Again?"

"I thought it would be easier." Her words felt hollow even to her, and she hated herself for saying them.

"Easier for who, Claire?" Ethan stepped closer, the space between them shrinking. "Because it sure as hell wasn't easier the last time you walked away."

The last time. The memory of it still stung-a fight they hadn't meant to have, words they hadn't meant to say. She'd left before either of them could take it back, and the distance between them had grown ever since.

"I wasn't running from you," she said softly, finally meeting his gaze. "I was running from me."

His brow furrowed, and for a moment, the anger melted into something more fragile. "What does that even mean?"

Claire hesitated, the words tangled in her throat. She'd never been good at explaining herself, not to him, not to anyone. "I was scared, Ethan. Of what I felt. Of how much I felt. It was like drowning, and I didn't know how to breathe."

"And now?" he asked, his voice quieter.

"Now I'm trying to learn."