Alex and Alice
Six months had passed since Alex and Alice parted ways. Their love story, once toxic and chaotic. The universe whispered their names in low tones, afraid to disturb the peaceful place they had found.
Alex had continued to focus on his writing and decided to put his first book together. His writing studio overlooked the sea, and every word was pushing him to write their story. The only way to forget the memories of Alice—the way her laughter echoed through their apartment, the warmth of her hands when she massaged his back after coming home from work.
Alice, too, had reshaped her life. She dove headfirst into her second career, making custom women earrings her newfound hobby. The empty bedroom that was once her grandmother but she passed away a few years ago had became her sanctuary, a place where she could channel her emotions into new designs. But on some late nights, when she can’t sleep, she wondered if Alex is doing at the moment.
Their breakup had been inevitable. Alex's 9 to 5 job and playing catch up on his writing, was leaving a little room for anything else. He worked in the morning and writing in the evening printing the ache of lost love. Alice, practical and grounded, yearned for attention and stability. She wanted all the attention, those words spoken aloud, and shared beliefs that bridged their worlds.
One evening, as the sun dipped below into the darkness, Alex received a letter. Alice's elegant handwriting cursive across the page, unraveling memories. She wrote of missed moments—the anniversaries he forgot, the nights he disappeared into his world of writing. But she also confessed her own shortcomings—the rigidity of her beliefs, the way she held love at arm's length.
"Alex," the letter read, "I loved you in minutes—those fleeting seconds when your eyes met mine. But I also doubted us in minutes—the ones when you vanished into your writing, leaving me breathless."
He traced the inked words, feeling the weight of their shared history. And so, he replied—a letter full of emotions. "Alice,"he wrote, "I loved you in written phrase—each story a prayer for us. But I also doubted us in minutes—the ones that blurred the lines between reality and dreams."
They exchanged letters like it was the last time seeing each other. Alice's words carried the scent of coffee shops and late-night debates. Alex's words sounded like the ocean water hitting the bank soft and gentle. They were two artists, creating their own masterpiece—one of love and loss.
One stormy night, Alice stood on the same rooftop where they once sat. Rain soaked her hair, and tears blended with raindrops. She whispered, "Alex, do you remember?"
And he appeared—a silhouette against the lightning-lit sky. "I remember," he said. "We were soaked, Alice. Beautiful and destructive."
"But now?" she asked.
"Now," he said, "we're friends. And that's enough."
They didn't reunite. Instead, deep breathes was taken—their love a fragile exhale, a promise to the wind. Alex wrote until the sunset, and Alice continued with her custom earrings. They no longer suffocated each other; instead, they filled their lungs with possibility.
And so, the city whispered their names—a love story rewritten, papers of pain transformed into liberation. Alex and Alice became legends—the writer who published short stories and the custom designer who was looking to be the next trendsetter.
"Breathe," they whispered to the wind, and the wind carried their words across oceans, through time.