The silence in the room felt heavier than the duvet. Licie lay on her back, the faint imprint of her head still visible on her pillow. Sunlight, usually a welcome visitor, felt intrusive, a harsh spotlight on the wreckage of the night. She could still feel the ghost of him imprinted on her skin, a phantom limb of intimacy now severed.

She hadn't meant for it to be the last time. Not consciously. There hadn’t been a dramatic fight, no grand pronouncements of finality. Instead, it was a subtle shift, a slow leak of the air from a balloon. They’d been together for three years, a comfortable routine woven between them like a familiar jumper. But lately, the threads had started to unravel.

Last night, though, for the first time in weeks, there was a flicker of the man she'd fallen for. A warmth, a tenderness that had been missing. They hadn't talked much – they rarely did anymore – but the silence had held a different quality, a bittersweet intimacy that felt both comforting and heartbreaking. It was, in its own way, beautiful.

Now, staring at the ceiling, she wondered why she hadn’t recognized it for what it was. A farewell. The last shag, as her blunt friend might term it. An epitaph to their relationship whispered in flesh.

A wave of sadness washed over her, not the sharp pang of heartbreak she'd expected, but a deep, quiet ache. It wasn’t just the loss of him, but the loss of their shared history. The jokes they'd understood only with each other, the small rituals they’d built together, the way he knew exactly where to scratch her back. All of that was now dissolving into memory, becoming a story instead of a reality.

She remembered the way he had looked at her, a brief flash of vulnerability in his eyes, just before he'd rolled away. It was a look that mirrored her own unspoken pain, a quiet acknowledgment of the chasm growing between them.

Licie finally pushed herself out of bed, the cool air a stark contrast to the warmth she'd just left. The room felt different, empty. She picked up his discarded shirt from the floor, burying her face in the fabric, inhaling the faint scent of him. It was a fleeting connection, a tangible reminder of what was, and what would never be again. She held it tightly for a moment, then gently, deliberately, laid it on the armchair. It was time to start sorting through the pieces, to move on from the last shag, the last echo, to whatever came next.

She didn't know what that was, she only knew that she would face it alone. The silence, while still heavy, had begun to shift. It was no longer just a void, but a canvas for something new.

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