She had been waiting for three days. Three days since she had sent him a text asking if he wanted to get together that weekend. Three days of checking her phone, hoping for a response, wondering if she had done something wrong. She had replayed their last conversation in her mind a hundred times, searching for clues, trying to understand what had changed. They had been on five dates. They had slept together twice. They had talked about their families, their dreams, their fears. She had believed that they were building something real, something meaningful, something that had a future.

Then the text finally arrived. It was short, casual, almost dismissive. "Hey, sorry for the late reply. I've been really busy with work. Can we catch up next week maybe?" No apology for the silence. No acknowledgment of her feelings. No concrete plan. Just the vague promise of a future meeting that she suspected would never happen. She stared at the screen, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment. At least he had responded. At least he was still alive. But the response felt hollow, empty, like a form letter sent to pacify an impatient customer.