It has already been a week since we’ve been apart, yet we’ve managed to stay in constant touch. I’m beginning to prefer days over nights because, during the day, I am at least occupied with work. The chatter of colleagues, the hum of the office, and the endless tasks keep my mind distracted. But when night falls, an overwhelming sadness creeps in. I return to an empty space, a silence that feels heavier than ever. Unlocking the door with my own key still feels strange. I rarely had to do it before most times, Iwould simply knock, or the door would already be open I just needed to push it. Now, every time I step inside, I see that pink hand towel hanging by the door, the one we used to wedge it shut when he was here. I haven't found the courage to take it down yet. Some nights, I stand there staring at it, lost in memories. And then, there are times when I forget to lock the door altogether, closing it the same way I used to when he went out, only to realize it in the morning. I am ...