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 grateful that we have been chatting and calling each other frequently. It helps, even though I know that once work starts next month, his time will become more limited. Meanwhile, he has been exploring Kuwait, visiting the beach, wandering through shopping malls, and adjusting to his new surroundings. When he’s not out, he’s either on a call with me or resting. He has completed his medical examinations, and thankfully, everything is fine, but the heat has been tough on him.
Each passing day brings a mix of emotions, relief that he is safe, longing for the familiarity of his presence, and hope that we will both find the strength to get through this distance.
Signing out,
Day 7 of Our LDR.

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