Love is growing apart

At first, nothing changes.

That is the promise you both cling to.

The night after she leaves, your phone lights up exactly when she said it would. You answer so quickly it almost feels desperate.

“Hi,” she says.

Her voice comes through the speaker slightly distorted by distance, but it is still her. The same warmth. The same little breath she takes before she laughs.

“Hi,” you say.

For a moment neither of you speaks. It is not awkward. It is relief. The quiet kind that comes after holding your breath too long.

“So,” she says finally. “Update.”

“Okay.”

“My roommate snores.”

You blink. “That’s your big news?”

“You don’t understand,” she says. “It sounds like a chainsaw. I might not survive this semester.”

You laugh. It surprises both of you.

“Stay strong.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your emotional support.”

The conversation opens up easily after that. She tells you about the campus. How huge everything feels. How the dining hall has so many food stations she got overwhelmed and just ate toast the first night.

“You flew across the country to eat toast,” you say.

“It was good toast.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

You say it without thinking.

There is a pause.

Then she says it back, softer this time.

“I love you too.”

You talk for two hours that night.

Then the next night.

Then the next.

It becomes routine.

Calls every night.

Messages all day.

You send photos of the empty field behind the gym when the sunsets turn the sky orange and pink. You tell her the sky still looks huge there.

She sends photos of buildings that look like castles and lecture halls filled with hundreds of students.

You send a picture of the vending machine at school.

She sends a picture of the university library with towering windows and endless rows of books.

“Your vending machine is less impressive,” she texts.

“It has personality.”

“You have low standards.”

“You love me anyway.”

She sends a heart.

You start counting days again.

Days until fall break.

Days until you see her.

Days until the distance shrinks back into something manageable.

At first the countdown feels hopeful.

You fall asleep with the phone warm in your hand after late night calls that stretch too long because neither of you wants to hang up first.

Sometimes you both stay quiet on the line, just listening to each other breathe.

Like proof that the other one is still there.

But slowly, quietly, her world grows.

The changes are small at first.