"I'm done talking," he said. The slam of the door, final, just like the argument. The only remnants of the person who'd just walked out was a sweatshirt he'd left behind and his aftershave still clinging to the moisture in the air, perfumed and heavy with regret.

Nalini stared at the navy sweatshirt with his band's logo, it was hanging on the back of the chair he had been sitting on, the dent of his weight still embossed on the cushion. She put it on, trying to feel its warmth in the now cold apartment. Yet, the softness of the flannel couldn't take back the harshness of the words spoken by the man who'd been wearing the sweatshirt only a few short hours ago.

She walked over to the ikat print divan on the balcony, a dampness from the night before had fallen upon the material. Feeling weak, she sat down, a silence surrounded her. Then, she heard the creak of the revolving gate below. Matthew had walked out. Out of her apartment building. Out of her life? She wondered. Nalini stood up, and looked over the balcony's edge. She saw his broad shoulders start to fade into the distance as he took defining strides to put more physical distance between them.

If only he could understand my life here, he'd move... For us.