London did not feel like London.
Not the way it used to.
The Lannister Estate stood as grand and untouched as ever, its elegance unshaken by time or sorrow. The long corridors remained polished, the chandeliers still cast their golden glow, and the gardens beyond the tall windows bloomed with quiet perfection.
Everything was exactly as it had always been.
Except Maya.
She moved through the estate like a shadow of herself.
Present.
But not entirely there.
Adela noticed it first.
It was in the way Maya smiled—too easily, too quickly, like a practiced response rather than a genuine emotion. It was in the way she sat through conversations, nodding at the right moments but rarely adding anything of substance. It was in the way her laughter came half a second too late, soft and hollow, disappearing almost as soon as it surfaced.
Tatiana noticed it next.
She watched Maya closely during meals—meals Maya barely touched.
At first, it seemed subtle.
A few bites.
A sip of water.
Then nothing.
By the third day, it was undeniable.
Maya wasn't eating.
She wasn't drinking enough.
And yet, she insisted she was fine.
"I'm just tired," she would say, offering that same gentle smile.
That same smile that gave nothing away.
Adela tried once more, one evening when the sky outside had turned a deep, quiet blue.
"Maya… talk to me," she said softly.
Maya looked at her.
And smiled.
"I'm okay."
It was the same answer.
It was always the same answer.
And somehow, that made it worse.
Because Adela knew—
Maya was not okay.
Not even close.
But Maya would not speak.
Would not explain.
Would not unravel.
So they let her be.
Not because they didn't care—
But because they didn't know how to reach her anymore.
At night, when the estate fell into silence, Maya's world narrowed into something much smaller.
Her room.
Her bed.
Her phone.
That was all.
She would lie awake in the darkness, staring at the faint glow of her screen.
Her fingers hovering over Calvin's name.
Sometimes she called.
Most times, she didn't.
But she always texted.
Are you okay?
The message would sit there for a moment.
Then send.
Hours would pass before another one came.
Are you fine?
Long pauses.
Carefully spaced.
As if distance could disguise the quiet desperation beneath them.
And sometimes—
when the silence became too loud—
she typed more.
I'm willing to try and change.
I just don't know what I did wrong.
She would stare at the message.
Her chest tight.
Her breathing uneven.
Then she would send it.
And wait.
Calvin's replies were rare.
Short.
Detached.
One evening, after hours of silence, she finally asked—
Are you staying in the condo?
The reply came much later.
I'm working at a bakery in Minnesota now.
That was all.
No explanation.
No elaboration.
Just a statement.
And somehow, it felt like a door quietly closing.
Two weeks passed in London.
Two weeks of quiet decay.
Maya did not heal.
She did not recover.
She simply endured.
Each day blending into the next until time itself felt meaningless.
By the time she left the Lannister Estate, she felt lighter physically—
but heavier in every other way.
New York felt colder when she returned.
Not because of the weather.
But because of everything waiting for her there.
Responsibilities.
Reality.
The life she had momentarily escaped.
She had things to settle at NYU.
Her graduation was approaching.
And no matter how broken she felt—
time refused to pause for her pain.
The next morning, Maya prepared to go out.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
She chose her outfit with care.
Elegant.
Refined.
Every detail intentional.
Her hair was neatly done, falling softly around her shoulders.
Her face was bare.
No makeup.
She hadn't worn any in weeks.
She couldn't.
The scents.
The irritation.
Her skin wouldn't allow it.
But even without it—
she looked composed.
Put together.
Like someone who had everything under control.
But inside—
there was no order.
No balance.
No peace.
Only a storm.
Relentless.
Unforgiving.
Her thoughts felt scattered, slipping through her mind faster than she could hold onto them. Her chest carried a constant pressure, as if something invisible sat on it, pressing down harder with every breath. Even walking felt heavier, like her body was slowly forgetting how to exist without effort.
Still—
she stepped outside.
The street outside the condo was alive with its usual rhythm.
Cars passing.
Voices blending.
Life moving forward without hesitation.
And then—
she saw him.
Calvin.
Standing across the street near a small coffee shop.
Arnold was beside him.
For a moment, Maya stopped walking.
Her mind struggled to process what she was seeing.
Minnesota.
Bakery.
That was what he said.
And yet—
he was here.
Right in front of her.
Alive.
Present.
Real.
They began walking toward the building.
Toward her.
Calvin saw her.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
Quick.
Uncontrolled.
Then it disappeared.
Replaced by a smile.
Not warm.
Not genuine.
Embarrassed.
Almost… forced.
They reached her.
Maya's expression remained calm.
Composed.
Unshaken.
"How are you?" she asked softly.
Nothing more.
No accusation.
No confusion.
No confrontation.
Just that.
Calvin nodded.
"I'm fine."
His tone was casual.
Too casual.
"I'm heading to the condo," he added.
Maya gave a small nod.
"Okay. I'm going to school."
And that was it.
They passed each other.
Like strangers who once knew too much.
The day at New York University felt distant.
Blurred.
Maya went through the motions.
Spoke when necessary.
Listened when required.
But none of it stayed with her.
By the time she returned to the condo, her body felt heavier than it had in the morning.
The space greeted her with silence.
Calvin wasn't there.
She stared at the room for a long moment before reaching for her phone.
Are you coming to the condo?
The reply came shortly after.
Yes.
That evening, she ordered something quietly.
A couple bracelet.
Simple.
Elegant.
With initials engraved.
A gift.
For his upcoming birthday.
Calvin returned late.
Around ten.
He moved through the condo as though nothing had happened.
As though everything was normal.
Maya said nothing.
Not until he was about to sleep.
"Calvin," she said softly.
He paused.
"I'm willing to try and change," she continued.
Her voice was steady.
Despite everything.
"I just don't know what I did wrong."
She hesitated.
Her fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of her clothes.
Her heartbeat rising.
Then, quietly—almost like a confession she wasn't sure she should make—
"I'm pregnant."
The words settled into the room.
Heavy.
Fragile.
Real.
For a moment—
nothing moved.
Nothing shifted.
Calvin did not react.
There was no surprise.
No question.
No concern.
Just a small, absent sound—
"Hmm."
That was all.
He lay down.
And within minutes—
he was asleep.
Maya remained there for a long time.
Sitting.
Breathing.
Listening to the quiet rhythm of his sleep as if it meant something.
As if it explained something.
But it didn't.
Before dawn, he woke again.
Dressed quickly.
Efficiently.
"I'm leaving for Minnesota," he said.
"The bakery job."
"I'll come back on weekends."
Maya looked at him.
Her expression calm.
"Okay," she said softly.
"I wish you well."
And just like that—
he left.
The days that followed were unbearable.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just… heavy.
Everything felt heavier.
Her body.
Her thoughts.
Her emotions.
Her existence.
She moved through each day like someone trapped underwater—
everything slow.
everything distant.
everything suffocating.
She couldn't think clearly.
Her mind felt fogged, like every thought dissolved before it could fully form.
Her chest carried a constant ache—
not sharp.
not sudden.
but deep.
endless.
Her appetite disappeared completely.
Food felt foreign.
Water felt like effort.
Even breathing—
sometimes felt like work.
Emotionally, she was unraveling.
Quietly.
Piece by piece.
Psychologically, she felt lost.
Disconnected from herself.
From reality.
From everything she used to understand.
And yet—
she still didn't know what to do.
Didn't know what she had done wrong.
Didn't know how to fix something she couldn't even define.
So she existed in that space—
between hope and despair.
between love and loss.
between holding on—
and slowly breaking.