One More Week (Freenbecky)

It was supposed to be the end.

We were already standing at the very last line-goodbye resting on the tip of her tongue, her bag in her hand, the door waiting open in front of her. Every step she took away from me felt like a nail being driven into the heart of everything we had built. All the quiet nights, the shared laughter, the promises we whispered against each other's skin-they were all supposed to stop here, fading into memory like smoke in the wind. There was no turning back, no second chance, no more time left to give. This was where our story ended.

But then I asked for it.

One more week.

Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. A tiny, fragile stretch of time stolen from the edge of forever, pulled back from the dark just to hold her a little longer. It is not enough to fix what broke, not enough to heal the rift between us, not enough to make her stay-but it is enough to let us breathe. Enough to let me memorize every line of her face, the sound of her laugh, the way her hand fits in mine, so that when she finally walks away for good, I will have something soft to carry with me through the empty days ahead.

It was supposed to be the end-but for now, just for a little while longer, it is not. The final page has not been turned. The last chapter has not closed. There is still one more week.

- Freen