As the months passed, Andy poured his soul into every gesture for Kimberly. Each morning, he'd wake up early to make her breakfast, the aroma of fresh coffee filling their small apartment as he set out pastries from the bakery he'd opened just for her. The cafe had become a sanctuary of love, a place where he could show Kimberly the world he built just for them, with each new decoration or addition an extension of his devotion.
On Kimberly's birthday, he surprised her with a fluffy white kitten, its bright eyes filled with innocence, a perfect reflection of his hope that they could always be innocent and pure together. But when Kimberly smiled at the gift, there was a hesitance in her eyes, a flicker of something Andy had been ignoring.
She never said a word. Not about the gifts. Not about the overwhelming love that seemed to suffocate rather than cherish her. Every day, a new surprise awaited her, but the weight of each one felt heavier. Kimberly began to feel the pull of exhaustion, the pressure of a love that felt more like a task than a treasure. She wondered if Andy could ever simply see her—beyond the endless gifts and grand gestures.
Kimberly loved Andy, deeply, but each unasked-for present, each perfect day that Andy built around her, made her feel like she was drowning in expectations. She wasn't sure how to tell him she didn't need all of this, that she only wanted him to see her for who she was, not as a project to fix or a reason to prove his worth.
The day after the kitten was delivered, Kimberly sat on the couch, the tiny creature nestled in her lap. Andy was busy in the kitchen, singing softly to himself as he prepared yet another surprise—dinner from her favorite restaurant. Kimberly tried to smile, to match the energy he exuded, but all she could feel was a quiet ache in her chest. She couldn't keep up with this. She didn't want to keep up with this.
She could hear Andy humming in the next room, so carefree, so unaware of the suffocating weight of his love. It broke something inside her. She didn't know how to tell him that his love had become a prison.
"Andy," she whispered under her breath, as if testing the name on her tongue, "I love you… but I need you to love me in a way that doesn't feel like an obligation."
The silence between them was thick, and it wasn't just the distance in the room. It was the distance that had started to grow between them, without either of them fully understanding why. Andy never noticed how her smiles had faded, how her laughter had become more forced, or how the spark in her eyes no longer shone with the same intensity. He just kept loving her the only way he knew how—by giving.
But love, she realized, couldn't just be measured in presents, or grand gestures. It had to be felt in the small moments, in the spaces between, in the quiet understanding that sometimes, love didn't have to be so loud. Sometimes, it was enough to just be there, to listen.
Kimberly glanced at the kitten in her lap, her fingers absentmindedly stroking its fur. "Maybe it's time I said something."
But was she ready to say it? Or would she just keep pretending to smile, to let him love her the way he thought she needed, while her heart quietly broke with every passing day?
The love she had for Andy had always been fierce, but now, it was tinged with the quiet desperation of someone who felt too small in a love that was too big.
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The soft murmur of the café buzzed in the background, a warm hum of life that contrasted the cold emptiness Kimberly felt ever since Andy left for the US. The café, once a haven of love and shared dreams, now felt too quiet, even with Daisy across the table—her only comfort these days.
Kimberly stared into her coffee, her voice low, as if speaking too loud might break her.
"I've seen her—or him, I don't even know how to say it right sometimes. When we make love or when we shower together… there's no… you know, but Andy looks just like a man. Not just looks—he is one. The way he talks, the way he carries himself, the way he thinks, it's all him. And it's not his fault… It's his mother's. She kept the truth from him, and now he's grown into a man that the world still refuses to see clearly. But I see him. I feel him. And no one fucks me the way he does. He's all man to me."
Daisy tilted her head, smiling softly, eyes sparkling with dreamy wonder. "That's so romantic. Like a book I'd never want to end."
Kimberly let out a quiet laugh, sipping her coffee. "Why do I keep talking about him? You've heard all this a million times."
"Because it's real, Kim. And it's beautiful."
Kimberly shook her head slowly, a soft smile pulling at her lips. "Love found me when I wasn't even looking. And I know it'll find you too."
"Hell no," Daisy chuckled, tossing her long hair back. "Single is my ride-or-die right now."
"Don't you want kids someday, babe?"
Daisy raised an eyebrow. "That's a question I should be asking you."
Kimberly leaned back in her chair, sighing dramatically. "Girl, I'm not even done with school. Why would I want kids now?"
"But when that time comes… will you stay? With Andy, I mean?"
The question hung between them, heavier than any of the steam rising from their mugs. Kimberly looked away, out the window where the sky was beginning to cloud.
After a pause, she whispered, "No. I won't leave him. We'll stick together. Always. I'm in love with him, Daisy. Not the idea of him. Him."
*********************************************
The city felt colder than Andy remembered. Streets buzzed with life, but none of it touched him. He walked past towering buildings and crowded cafes with his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, headphones in, but no music playing—just the silence he needed to hear himself think.
He hadn't planned to stay away this long. Business called, yes—but it was more than that. It was escape. It was fear. A fear he hadn't spoken aloud. Fear that Kimberly might not see him the same way forever… that the illusion of his manhood, the one he fought so hard to live, might fade in her eyes.
He leaned against a brick wall, lighting a cigarette he didn't really want, watching the smoke curl and vanish. He thought of her. Always her.
Every night in the States ended the same: him, alone in a hotel room, rereading old texts from Kimberly, replaying voice messages just to hear her laugh. Her voice was a lifeline, but lately, she'd sounded tired—like something in her heart had shifted.
Was he losing her?
He'd given her everything. The café. The cat. The comfort. Maybe too much. Maybe he'd smothered her in love, trying to prove something—not to her, but to himself.
Andy looked at his reflection in the window of a shop: tall, broad-shouldered, strong jawline… a man by every definition he could physically reach. But still, deep down, he remembered the confusion. The betrayal. The truth his mother buried that shattered him the moment he found it. He had no name for what he was, only what he felt—and what he felt, with Kimberly, was real. Honest. Home.
He pulled out his phone and hovered over her contact.
Kimberly – My Light
He typed:
"I miss you. Every minute. You still love me, right?"
Then deleted it.
Instead, he typed again:
"How's the cat?"
He sent it. Coward.
His chest ached, but not from doubt in her love. From doubt in himself.
Andy wasn't sure what he was coming back to. But he knew one thing:
He was coming back.