8 March. The day we found each other. Whatever happened before this doesn't count — this is where the story begins. Two people, one conversation, and something neither of us had a name for yet.

"Every good story has a first page. Ours was March 8th."

The beginning. Everything was new — conversations that went longer than expected, learning each other's rhythms, figuring out what this was. These 17 days were where the foundation got laid.

25 March. Something broke. Words said or unsaid, distance felt in a new way — and the silence began. Not the comfortable kind. The kind that sits heavy and waits.

"Sometimes the silence between two people is louder than anything they've said."

Three weeks of not talking. Long enough to feel what the absence meant. Long enough to know whether this was something worth coming back to. Turns out — it was.

Around April 16th, the silence ended. Someone reached out — or both did at the same time — and things started again. A second chapter. Quieter, maybe more careful, but real.

"Coming back is harder than starting. It means you chose each other again, knowing the risk."

Less than 10 days after coming back — another break. April 24th or 25th. Another silence. Harder this time, because we'd already been here once before. The same ache but more familiar now.

The longest gap. Six weeks of not talking. Enough time to wonder. Enough time to decide. The kind of silence where you realise how much space someone takes up — even when they're not there.

"Absence doesn't make you forget. It just makes you more sure."

June 10th. We started talking again. After everything — the first fight, the first silence, the second fight, the longer silence — we came back. Again. And that says everything worth saying.

Two fights. Two silences. Still here. That's not nothing. That's actually everything.

"We keep finding our way back to each other. Maybe that's the whole point."