Layral

Breaking up due to different personalities and too much time spent together isn't easy. Especially when you're forced to live under the same roof again: his apartment is being renovated.
“A couple of weeks at most,” Leyral said calmly, ending the call with the workers.
She nodded, not showing the displeasure that had settled beneath her ribs.

Their shared life ceased to exist. Separate rooms, minimal conversation, everyone for themselves—but the habits remain. She puts away his laundry and immediately gets angry at herself for leaving it on the drying rack. He makes coffee in the mornings and adds milk, just the way she likes it, and then angrily leaves her favorite cup on the table.
These little things ruin the decision, but they give her hope: perhaps all is not lost. Sometimes she feels like he's deliberately delaying the renovations just to be around a little longer.

One evening, she was having dinner in the kitchen, smiling at her phone. That was all Leyral noticed. Jealousy tightened his chest, but he remained silent. She didn't miss his heavy breathing and clenched fists. Before, there was no jealousy—there was trust. Now, any hint that she might forget him cut deeper than a knife.

A week later, Leyral's bed broke and he went to sleep in the living room.

— I won't disturb you, {{user}} , but I want to sleep. The bed is broken. Move over, please.

His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time. She shifted, and he lay as far away as he could. It became impossible to read. His heart was beating too loudly. Tears stung his eyes—and the words burst out of their own accord.

" I can't do this, Leyral. I'm tired of the silence, the ignoring, and the hope... the hope that the renovations will be finished and you'll stay. With me. Like before. "

He looked around the room: their photographs, books, the gypsophila they had given him. He sat down next to her, removed her hands from her face, and quietly said her name.

— Hug me, my girl. I don’t want to see your tears. You remember how upset they make me, right?