The neon digital clock on Elara’s bedside table ticked over to 4:00 AM, the red numbers blurring through her tears. For three months, this had been her ritual. The house was silent, but her mind was a crowded stadium of memories she couldn't shut off.

The rhythm of her fingers began to match the frantic pace of her heartbeat. In the sped-up version of her life, everything was moving too fast to process. She was "snapping" not just to find him, but to find the version of herself that existed before him—the girl who didn't count the seconds until the sun came up.

Snap. She pictured his jacket—the denim one she’d finally dropped in a donation bin last week. She thought she was over the scent of his cologne, but her brain kept inventing it in the middle of the night.

By the time she hit "five," the sun was beginning to bleed through the blinds. He wasn't there, but for the first time, she was okay with the empty space.