(Eli’s POV)
A few years passed, and things weren’t the same anymore.
I don’t know when it started—maybe it was slow, gradual, like a crack forming in glass, too small to notice at first. But now, it’s all I can see.
Iris changed. Or maybe, I was the one who changed.
Her moods shifted like waves, unpredictable and uncontrollable. One moment, she was sweet, holding onto me like I was the only thing keeping her grounded. The next, she was distant, pushing me away with cold words and sharp silences.
We fought more than we talked.
The little things became big things. A forgotten text, a delayed reply, a misunderstood look—everything became a reason to argue.
And the jealousy… it wasn’t just about other people. It was about time, about attention, about things I didn’t even realize could make her feel insecure.
"I’m sorry, Eli," she would say, her voice small, her fingers gripping my wrist. "I didn’t mean it."
And I would believe her. Every single time. Because I knew she was trying.
But then, she would change again.
The cycle kept repeating, and I—God, I didn’t know what to do anymore.
I loved her.
I still love her.
But love wasn’t enough to fix this, was it?
I ran a hand through my hair, staring at the ground as the weight of it all settled on my shoulders.
Our relationship used to feel like home.
Now, it just feels like a battle.
And I’m starting to wonder…
Are we still fighting for each other?
Or are we just fighting to hold on to something that’s already gone?
(Eli’s POV – Flashback)
"Iris, can you just listen to me for once?" I sighed, rubbing my temples as frustration boiled in my chest.
Her arms were crossed, her brows furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Listen to what, Eli? More excuses?"
I clenched my jaw. "It’s not an excuse. I told you, I was busy with work. I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose."
She let out a bitter laugh. "Right. Too busy to reply? Too busy to even check on me? But not too busy to hang out with your co-workers, right?"
I exhaled sharply, trying to stay calm. "Iris, that was a team dinner. I told you about it."
"You barely texted me all day, Eli," she snapped, her voice shaking. "Do you know what that feels like? Do you know what it's like to sit alone, waiting for someone who—" She cut herself off, turning away.
I stared at her back, my heart sinking. I knew she wasn’t just mad—she was hurt.
"Iris…" I softened my voice, stepping closer. "I love you, okay? That hasn’t changed."
She let out a shaky breath. "Then why does it feel like it has?"
That question made my chest tighten.
I didn’t know how to answer. Because lately… I was starting to wonder the same thing.
She turned to face me, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. "You don’t understand, Eli. My mind—it plays tricks on me. Some days, I feel like I’m not enough for you. Some days, I feel like you’ll leave. And when you’re distant, even for a second, it just—" She clenched her fists. "It makes the voices in my head louder."
My heart ached at her words.
"Iris…" I reached for her hands, but she pulled away.
She shook her head. "I don’t want to fight anymore."
Neither did I.
But we were stuck in this cycle, weren’t we?
No matter how much we loved each other, we kept ending up here. Arguing. Hurting. Breaking.
And I was terrified of what that meant for us.(Eli’s POV – Flashback)
"Iris, please, just take them," I said, holding out the small bottle of her medication.
She sat on the couch, arms crossed, her expression blank—but I knew better. I knew this silence was just the calm before the storm.
"I don’t need them today," she muttered, avoiding my eyes.
I sighed, kneeling in front of her. "You said that yesterday. And the day before that."
She flinched but kept her gaze fixed on the floor. "I feel fine, Eli. I don’t need them all the time."
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to stay calm. We’d had this fight too many times before. "You know it’s not just about feeling fine today. It’s about keeping things stable."
She scoffed, finally looking up at me. "Stable? Eli, nothing about me is stable!" Her voice cracked, and my heart clenched. "You don’t get it. These meds—they numb me. They take away parts of me."
I swallowed hard. "They help you, Iris. They help keep the darkness away."
She shook her head, her hands gripping her knees. "But what if the darkness is the only thing that makes me feel real?"
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.
"Iris," I whispered, reaching for her hands. She didn’t pull away this time, but she didn’t squeeze back either.
I wanted to tell her she was wrong. That she was real, even without the darkness. That she was more than her bad days. That I saw her—even when she felt invisible.
But I was scared she wouldn’t believe me.
And I was even more scared that one day, she’d stop trying.
So, I did the only thing I could. I held onto her hands, even as they trembled.
And I prayed that she would keep holding on, too.
"Iris, please…" My voice was softer this time, almost pleading.
She looked away, her jaw clenched. "I hate feeling like this, Eli."
"I know," I whispered. "I know, baby."
Her fingers trembled in my hands, and I could feel the battle she was fighting—against herself, against me, against the thought of taking those meds.
She exhaled shakily. "You say they help me. But what if I don’t want to be helped? What if I just want to be me?"
I tightened my grip on her hands. "You are you, Iris. The meds don’t change that. They just make things a little easier. They help you breathe when everything feels too heavy."
She let out a bitter laugh. "And what if I don’t deserve that? What if I should just—"
"Don’t," I cut her off, my stomach twisting. "Don’t say that."
Silence filled the room.
Her eyes met mine, and I saw it—the exhaustion, the self-doubt, the storm raging inside her.
I reached up, cupping her face. "Iris, you deserve to feel better. You deserve to have good days. And I’ll stay with you through the bad ones, but you have to fight for yourself too."
Her lower lip quivered. "Eli, I—"
"Just take them," I urged gently. "Just for today. Just one step at a time."
She hesitated, her gaze flickering to the bottle between us. I could see the resistance, the fear… but then, slowly, she reached for it.
My chest tightened with relief as she unscrewed the cap and took one pill.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Thank you."
She didn’t say anything, just leaned into me, her body trembling.
And I held her, hoping—praying—that she’d keep choosing to fight.