The Right Direction

Drifting apart only to find each other again

Title: The Right Direction

⸻

Josh lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The dim light from the street lamp bled through the blinds, painting stripes across his face. He’d been like this for hours—motionless, quiet, chasing something that never seemed to land.

His fingers gripped the edge of the blanket.

“Staring at the ceiling,
Trying to get in touch with my feelings…”

He mouthed the words in silence. A poem? A thought? Maybe both.

He felt numb. Not the kind of numb that comes from pain, but the kind that creeps in when everything feels… unanswered.

Josh was twenty-eight and had spent the last three years in Los Angeles chasing a dream he wasn’t even sure was his anymore. Music, fame, something like purpose. But every melody he wrote felt hollow, every gig just a passing moment. Still, he kept writing lyrics in his head, hoping the right line would unlock whatever was stuck.

“Unsure what to do,
Still searching for a clue.”

A sigh escaped him.

⸻

It had been almost a year since Reese left. Well, not left in the dramatic way most stories go. There was no yelling, no betrayal. Just silence. A drifting. Like two boats caught in different tides.

Josh met Reese during an open mic night downtown, both of them fresh transplants to the city. Reese had eyes that saw everything and a laugh that made people turn around. They’d talked over bad diner coffee until 2 a.m., and from then on, were almost inseparable.

They played music, explored the city, and shared dreams. Reese wanted to open a music school for kids. Josh wanted to write the kind of songs that made people cry in their car. They were two notes in the same chord—imperfect but somehow right.

Until they weren’t.

It started small: missed calls, different schedules, nights spent apart. Then one day, Reese said softly, “Maybe we need space.”

Josh had nodded, too afraid to fight for what felt like slipping sand.

And now, all this time later, that moment haunted him.

⸻

“I’m certain it will come to me,
Knowing it will set me free.”

Josh swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was cold, grounding. He walked to the living room and picked up the dusty notebook on his desk. It had been untouched for months.

He flipped to a blank page and began to write—not a song, but a confession.

He thought about the time Reese had surprised him with tacos after a bad audition, or the way Reese always played guitar barefoot, like the music needed to touch the ground. He remembered how Reese would rest their head on his chest at night, listening to his heartbeat like it was a lullaby.

And how Josh never said “I love you” first.

Why hadn’t he?

⸻

He left the apartment at dawn, heart pounding, notebook in hand. He didn’t know what he’d say or if Reese would even want to see him. But there was something different now, something urgent.

“I keep searching everywhere,
Not realizing it was right there.”

The streets were still quiet. LA hadn’t fully woken up, and neither had Josh, but his feet moved like they had a memory of their own. He took the train to the east side—Echo Park. Reese’s neighborhood.

He stood outside the little house with the teal door, trying to breathe.

The sound of a guitar came through the window. Soft. Familiar.

Josh’s chest tightened. He knocked.

⸻

Reese opened the door, eyes wide in surprise. Their hair was longer. They looked different. Older. Beautiful. Still Reese.

“Josh?”

“I… hey.” He held up the notebook like it was a shield. “Can I come in?”

Reese hesitated for a beat, then stepped aside. “Yeah. Sure.”

The living room hadn’t changed. The same record player, the same painting Josh had helped hang crooked. But it smelled different now—like rosemary and something warm. Reese was cooking.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” Reese said, crossing her arms.

Josh nodded. “I didn’t expect to come. But… I’ve been thinking. A lot.”

Reese raised an eyebrow. “That’s dangerous.”

Josh almost smiled. “I know. But I wrote something. I’m not sure it’s a song or a poem or just—something I needed to say.”

He handed Reese the notebook. Their fingers brushed. Electric. Familiar.

Reese read silently, eyes moving across the page. Josh watched them the whole time. When she finished, Reese looked up.

“It was you and your affection,” Josh recited aloud, his voice trembling,
“That set me in the right direction.”

For a long moment, Reese said nothing. Then, softly, “I never stopped caring about you, Josh.”

Josh exhaled, shaky. “I was afraid. Of saying the wrong thing. Of needing you too much. I thought chasing this dream meant pushing everything else away.”

“And now?”

“Now I just want to find my way back.”

Reese set the notebook down. “We lost something. But maybe not everything.”

Josh stepped closer. “I want to try again. No more drifting.”

Reese searched his eyes, looking for something. Then slowly, carefully, she reached for his hand.

“Okay,” Reese whispered.

And that was enough.

⸻

They spent the rest of the morning drinking coffee, talking like people who had once been in love—and maybe still were. Maybe always would be.

⸻

Weeks passed. Then months. And slowly, the notes began to fit again. They wrote music together. Played shows together. Built a quiet kind of life that didn’t need noise to feel full.

Love, they learned, wasn’t always about getting everything right the first time. Sometimes, it was about losing your way—so you could finally learn what home sounded like.

And when Josh stared at the ceiling now, it wasn’t to chase feelings he couldn’t name.

It was to count the ways Reese made the world feel whole.

Because after all the solitude and reflection, it really had been simple.

It was Reese.
And her affection.
That set him in the right direction.

⸻