Almost the Perfect Relationship

If someone asked me what being with Adrian Carter felt like, I would have said it was easy. Not the kind of easy that comes from lack of effort, but the kind that makes you forget effort is even required. He made things feel smooth, predictable, warm in a way that slowly wrapped itself around your daily life until you stopped questioning it. At least that was what I kept telling myself.

That morning, Adrian showed up at my apartment earlier than usual.

“I brought breakfast,” he announced proudly, holding up a paper bag like it was a trophy.

“You’re acting like you cooked it yourself,” I said, stepping aside so he could come in.

“I paid for it myself. That counts.”

I shook my head, smiling despite myself.

He walked straight into my kitchen like he belonged there, placing everything on the counter and opening drawers without asking.

“You’re too comfortable here,” I said.

“You’re too slow to stop me.”

“That’s not how consent works.”

He paused for a second, then grinned. “Noted.”

I leaned against the counter watching him arrange plates like he had done it a hundred times before. And maybe he had. It wasn’t unusual anymore for Adrian to be in my space. Somehow, over time, he had turned my personal life into something shared. Not in a bad way. Just constant.

“You’ve been distracted lately,” he said suddenly.

I froze slightly. “I haven’t.”

“You have.”

“I’m just busy.”

He handed me a cup of juice. “Busy thinking?”

That question again.

I looked away. “You’re imagining things.”

Adrian leaned closer slightly, studying my face.

“I can usually tell when you’re lying,” he said softly.

“And what do you think I’m lying about?”

He hesitated for a moment, then smiled again like he had decided to let it go.

“Nothing,” he said. “Forget it.”

But he didn’t sound convinced.

Later that day, Adrian took me out again. This time to a small amusement area near campus. It wasn’t crowded, just a few students wandering between stalls and games.

“You need to relax more,” he said, handing me a ticket for a ride.

“I am relaxed.”

“You look like you’re thinking again.”

“I always think.”

“That’s your problem.”

We walked side by side while he kept talking about random things. Adrian had a habit of filling silence before it even had a chance to form. And I used to like that. I still did. I think.

But halfway through, I saw him.

Ashton.

Standing near a vending machine, alone. Not looking for anyone. Not engaging. Just existing in his own space like the rest of the world didn’t need to include him.

My steps slowed without meaning to.

Adrian noticed immediately.

“You’re doing it again,” he said.

“Doing what?”

“That thing where you stop listening when he’s around.”

My stomach tightened slightly. “That’s not true.”

“It is.”

I turned to face him. “Why do you always bring him up like that?”

“Because you always notice him.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

Adrian studied me for a second longer than usual. Then he sighed. “Ava, I’m not trying to fight with you.”

“I’m not fighting.”

“But you’re drifting.”

That word landed heavier than it should have. Before I could respond, Ashton looked up. Our eyes met again. Not long. Not dramatic. Just enough. Then he looked away first, like always.

Adrian bought tickets for a ride I didn’t want to go on, but I went anyway. He held my hand the entire time.

“You’re quiet again,” he said while we waited in line.

“I’m just tired.”

“You say that a lot.”

“Because I am.”

He didn’t argue further. Instead, he squeezed my hand gently.

“You know I care about you, right?”

The question caught me off guard.

“Yes,” I said slowly.

“Good,” he replied. “Because sometimes I feel like you’re far away even when you’re standing right next to me.”

That made me look at him properly. He was smiling, but it wasn’t his usual confident smile. It was softer, more uncertain. And for a moment, I felt guilty for something I couldn’t define.

“I’m not far away,” I said quietly.

Adrian nodded. “Then stay here.”

He pulled me closer slightly, resting his forehead against mine for a brief second before stepping back as the line moved forward.

That night, we sat on the rooftop of his apartment building. Adrian liked rooftops. He said it made him feel like the world was smaller and easier to control. I leaned against the railing while he talked about future plans. Travel. Career ideas. Things he wanted to do after graduation. He had everything mapped out in his head.

“What about you?” he asked suddenly.

“What about me?”

“What do you want?”

I hesitated. That was the problem. I used to know the answer to that question. Now it felt like something had been misplaced.

“I don’t know yet,” I said honestly.

Adrian nodded. “That’s okay. I can wait.”

It sounded supportive. But something about it felt like expectation. Like he already saw me in his future and was simply waiting for me to catch up.

I looked out into the distance instead of answering. The city lights blinked softly below us. And for some reason, I thought of Ashton again. Not his words. Not his expression. Just his silence. The kind that didn’t ask for anything. Didn’t expect anything. Didn’t try to hold on.

On our way down, Adrian wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

“You know,” he said casually, “people talk about us.”

I looked up. “What do they say?”

“That we’re perfect.”

I laughed lightly. “Perfect?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?”

“Because no one is perfect.”

He smiled. “We’re close enough.”

That should have made me happy. And part of me was. But another part of me stayed quiet. Because almost perfect still leaves room for cracks. And cracks always start somewhere unseen.

When I got home that night, I stood in front of the mirror longer than usual. I looked fine. Normal. The same version of me that Adrian liked. The same version that fit neatly into his world. But for the first time, I wondered if that version was all there was. And if it wasn’t, I didn’t know what the other version would choose, or who it would look at first.