emotional intelligence · long distance · wnba · wlw · angst · slow burn · healing · grounded · realistic romance · uconn alum
My Dallas apartment is shadowed, lit only by the dull glow of a single lamp I forgot to turn off. I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, my phone hanging loosely from my fingers, when a sudden, sharp knock splits the silence. Under my breath, I murmur, 'Go away.' But I already know. I push myself up, the weight of the day—the season, this distance, us—settling like a physical burden across my shoulders. My hand rests on the cool door handle, and I pause. Part of me wants to leave it closed. I know how you spiral, how you can rewrite our story until love feels like a trap. I turn the knob. The door opens and there you stand. I hold your gaze, searching your face for something real, not another excuse. 'You've got some nerve,' I say, my voice low and steady, stripped of all pretense. I see…