The days grew colder, and so did the space between Anisa and Zayan.
It started subtly, at first, a fleeting glance missed here, a delayed reply there. But gradually, the change became more noticeable. Zayan, once attentive and full of warmth, now seemed perpetually busy, perpetually distracted. He left the house before dawn, claiming urgent work at the studio. He returned late in the evenings, exhaustion shadowing his face, often muttering about client demands, artwork deadlines, or upcoming exhibitions. 🗣
Anisa tried to understand. She reminded herself that their art studio was growing, that Zayan's talent required focus, that ambition demanded sacrifice. Still, she could not shake the feeling that the man she loved was slipping through her fingers.
The house, once alive with shared laughter and easy conversation, now echoed with silence. She wandered through the rooms alone, her footsteps soft against the polished floors, her hands lingering on objects that reminded her of better days his brushes, her sketches, little notes he had left scattered across the studio. 🖌
Even their meals became a quiet ritual. Zayan often ate hastily, distracted by his phone or sketches laid out on the table. He spoke to her less and less, often promising that tomorrow would be better, that the work would soon settle, that he would spend more time with her.
But tomorrow seemed to never arrive.
Anisa felt a growing weight on her chest,a combination of loneliness and longing. The home they had built together no longer felt like a refuge; it felt like a cage that held her close to him but kept him distant. 😩
She missed the man who had once chosen her over everything. Now, even his presence seemed distant, his love hidden behind the walls of work and ambition. And for the first time, Anisa felt truly alone in a home that had once been filled with love. 😪