The Love Algorithm

Chapter 30: The Space Between Heartbeats

William

He realized that the hardest part wasn't leaving.

It was not having time to say goodbye while still being here.

The hours slipped through his fingers like sand —
every night he came home, Est felt further away, like a fading song he used to hum.

He missed Est.

Missed his commentary during dramas.
Missed his teasing smirks when William couldn't pick an outfit.
Missed his tiny, crooked post-it notes on the fridge that read things like "don't forget your charger, dumbass ❤️"

And William had no one to blame but himself.

He stared at the untouched list again. One more week left.

Maybe he still had time.

Est

He didn't want to ask for more. Not now. Not when William was already stretched thin.

But that didn't stop the ache in his chest when William rushed out again with barely a kiss.
Didn't stop the guilt for feeling hurt when this was supposed to be a good thing.

He started measuring the days by what wasn't happening.

No dates.
No late-night cuddles.
No real conversations.
Just a growing space between them.

One night, as he closed the curtains, Est whispered to no one in particular,
"I don't want to get used to being without you before you even leave."

The airport smelled like coffee and cleaning fluid, like people in transit. William's backpack was slung over one shoulder, his rolling suitcase wobbling slightly behind him. Est walked beside him in silence, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket, as if to stop them from reaching out.

They had barely spoken that morning.

The car ride had been a blur of muffled radio and small talk that sounded foreign in their mouths. Did you take the adapter? Did you pack enough shirts? Don't forget the Thai snacks in your carry-on. And now, there was nothing left to say.

The boarding gate loomed ahead — all sterile light and mechanical voice announcements. William stopped a few feet away, turning to face him.

"Hey," he said softly. "I'll video call the moment I land."

Est nodded. "Okay."

"I'll text once I'm past immigration."

"Okay."

William searched Est's face. "Est..."

Est finally looked up. His voice was quiet, flat like pressed paper. "It's only six months."

"It'll go by fast."

Est gave a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "That's what people say when they're the ones leaving."

That made William pause. His throat tightened. "I didn't want to go," he said, and this time the words cracked. "You know that, right?"

Est nodded, swallowing hard. "I know. Doesn't mean it hurts any less."

William reached forward, pulling Est into a tight hug. Not rushed. Not distracted. Just the two of them, standing in the noise of the world, holding on.

Est buried his face into William's shoulder. "I don't know what to do without you."

"You'll still have me," William whispered, gripping him tighter. "Every day. Just a screen away."

"It's not the same," Est mumbled. "I want you here — in the kitchen stealing mango slices. On the couch falling asleep . I want you in the small things."

William pulled back, forehead pressed to Est's. "You'll still have my heart in all of those places."

"You're such a sap," Est whispered, even as a tear slipped down his cheek.

"I learned it from you," William smiled, brushing it away.

The final boarding call echoed through the hall.

William took a shaky breath, pulling away. "Okay. I should go."

Est nodded, even as his fingers refused to let go of William's sleeve.

A beat passed. William gently untangled their hands.

And then he walked away.

Est stood still, watching the back of the man he loved slowly disappear into a crowd of strangers and automatic doors. His chest ached with something that didn't quite have a name.

But in his pocket, his phone buzzed.

One new message:
"Don't forget me while I'm gone. I won't survive it."

Est smiled faintly through the blur of his tears. He typed back:

"You idiot. I've been yours for a while now"