The apartment felt emptier than ever. The hum of the refrigerator, the distant sounds of Manila traffic, even the faint drip of a leaky faucet seemed louder, sharper, reminding Ethan of the silence that had taken over his life.
Luna was out again, another night with Maya, another party in BGC. She didn't think twice before leaving, didn't ask where he was or if he needed anything. And Ethan didn't stop her. He never did.
He stayed behind, weaker now, pain gnawing at his side with every movement. Cooking dinner had become an exhausting task. Standing, bending, even sitting in the living room required careful planning so he wouldn't collapse. And yet, he carried on.
After placing a plate of untouched food on the table, he moved quietly to the bedroom. The camera was set up, facing the bed, recording even though she wasn't there. He didn't know why—maybe it was habit, maybe it was fear. Fear that one day she might leave forever, and he wouldn't have a single image of her in his arms, of her life intertwined with his.
He lay down on the couch, exhausted, the ache in his body flaring with every heartbeat. Manila's neon lights spilled through the window, reflecting off the floor, painting shadows that danced along the walls. Ethan pressed his hand to his chest, feeling the tightness grow worse, but he refused to let it show. Not to anyone.
Alone, he whispered into the dark: I love you. I've always loved you. I will always stay.
Hours passed. The night deepened. The city outside roared with life, but inside, Ethan's world was smaller, quieter, dominated by the camera lens and his unspoken devotion. He watched the footage from previous nights—the moments she slept, the nights she scolded him for filming, the laughter he had secretly recorded. Each frame was a lifeline, a memory he could clutch when his body gave out.
He closed his eyes, letting exhaustion overtake him, but even in sleep, he was restless. Every sound, every shadow, every flicker of light reminded him of her absence, of her indifference, of the love he carried alone.
Somewhere deep inside, he knew this was only the beginning. Nights like this would become more frequent, longer, harsher. His body would betray him further. And still, he would stay.
Because love had become his endurance.
His silence.
His invisible fight.
And Ethan knew, even as pain throbbed through his veins and weakness weighed him down, that he could not leave her. Not yet. Not until he had preserved every memory, every careless smile, every fleeting moment of the woman he loved—whether she noticed it or not.