Amelia and Leo lived in a small town, caught between the hills and the sea. Their love was loud, the kind of love that filled the town, the kind of love you could touch. It was them against the world, hidden away in their own treehouse of dreams.

But three years after their vows, something changed. Leo’s smile, once lopsided and genuine, now seemed twisted. Amelia’s laugh, a bright sound that used to fill rooms, became a dull echo in Leo’s ears. The lines on their faces, once maps of shared joys, began tracing the contours of weariness.

Their home turned silent, the laughter replaced by the monotonous rhythm of their separate lives. Amelia looked at Leo and Leo looked back, but all they saw were reflections of their despair. Their bed, once a harbor, felt more like a cold ocean separating two distant shores.

The years ahead of them looked long and unforgiving. Their love, once hot and fervent, had grown cold, like bathwater left standing too long. The warmth had drained away, replaced by a chilling emptiness. Their shared dreams had turned into a shared silence, their once feverish love a mere echo in their hollow hearts.

The pain of it all was deeper because they knew what they had lost. Every quiet moment, every empty room, every cold night was a reminder of a love that once was. It wasn’t a noisy end. It was a quiet, slow death, much like a flame running out of wick, leaving behind a trail of cold, grey smoke. Life went on, indifferent to their muted heartbreak, paving the path to a future where their passionate past was but a fading memory.