All The Summers Between Us | TSITP

The Space Between Us.

The house was still and too quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against your chest and made it hard to breathe. Morning light spilled in through the windows—warm and golden, soft enough to make it feel like the world hadn't fallen apart yet.

But it had.

Lydia sat at the kitchen table with a mug of untouched coffee, tracing the rim with her finger like it might give her answers. Last night kept replaying in fragments—the shouting, the heartbreak, the ocean, his hands, the way they'd clung to each other like they were trying to stop time. And now, morning had come. And everything felt heavier.

Conrad appeared in the doorway, hair still messy, sweatshirt hanging loose from one shoulder. For a long time, he just stood there watching her, trying to read the expression on her face. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to speak—if words would make it better or worse.

"Hey," he said eventually, his voice a little hoarse.

"Hey." She didn't look up.

"Can I sit?"

She shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. "It's a free country."

He took the chair across from her. It creaked under his weight, loud in the quiet room. Neither of them said anything for a minute. The silence was too loud, too everything.

Finally, she sighed and said, "I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"Pretend like nothing happened."

"I'm not pretending." He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "Are you?"

She finally looked up at him, eyes soft and tired. "No. I couldn't even if I tried."

"Then maybe we don't have to," he said. "Maybe we just... let it be what it was."

Lydia shook her head, a small, broken laugh leaving her lips. "What it was?" she repeated. "Conrad, it wasn't just something that happened. It was us. It's always been us."

"I know." His voice was low, almost a whisper. "That's what makes this so hard."

She stared down at her hands. "Last night felt like stepping back into something I'd been missing without even realising how badly. Like I could breathe again. Like it was all going to be okay."

"And now?"

"And now it feels like we're standing at the edge of a cliff and there's no way across." She swallowed hard, blinking back tears. "I hate that the world is falling apart around us. I hate that everything else is so loud I can barely hear what I feel."

"Me too," he said. "God, me too."

They sat there for a while—just breathing, just existing in the same space. It wasn't awkward, not really. It was sad. It was honest.

"I still love you," she said quietly, so quietly he almost didn't hear it.

His chest tightened. "I never stopped."

And for a moment, they just let that truth hang there—heavy, unfixable, beautiful.

"Then why does it feel like we're still losing each other?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Because maybe we are." He looked straight at her, unflinching. "Not because we don't care. Not because we're broken. But because maybe right now... love isn't the thing that's going to save us."

Lydia inhaled shakily, the words cutting deeper than she'd expected. "That's the worst part. Knowing that loving you isn't the problem."

"It's the timing," Conrad said softly. "It's everything that's in the way. The house, our families, the weight of it all. It's not fair."

"It's not." She bit her lip, trying to hold herself together. "If things were different..."

"Then maybe we'd be together."

"Yeah." She gave a sad little smile. "Maybe."

Conrad shifted forward, like the space between them was too much to bear. He reached out, fingers brushing against hers across the table. And then he leaned in closer and pressed his lips to her forehead—a kiss that said I love you and I'm sorry and I wish we were enough all at once.

"I don't know what happens now," he murmured.

"Neither do I." Her voice cracked on the words.

"Maybe we'll figure it out. Maybe we won't."

"Maybe," he said.

And they both knew that maybe was the only thing they could hold on to. It wasn't a promise. It wasn't a goodbye. It was the truth—raw, bittersweet, and heavy. They loved each other. And maybe one day, that would be enough.

But not today.

Not yet.

And in that small, fragile moment—sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by the ghosts of everything they'd lost—Lydia and Conrad both realised that they didn't have any answers. Only love. Only hope. Only the aching, unbearable space between them.