A Growing Shadow

Arthur’s departure for the island wasn't a sudden storm, but more like a gradual shift in the atmospheric pressure, a subtle darkening of the sky that I, in my blissful ignorance, had barely registered. The weeks leading up to his trip were punctuated by a growing, almost imperceptible, distance. It wasn't in his words, not directly, but in the way he held himself, the way his gaze sometimes seemed to drift past me, as if searching for something I couldn’t offer.

The most striking change, I realize now, was his relationship with his phone. It had always been a tool, a necessary evil of his work, but now it felt like an extension of his being, a precious appendage he guarded with a ferocity I’d never witnessed. Before, he’d leave it on the bedside table, its soft blue light a familiar presence in the dark. Now, it was perpetually in his hand, or tucked into his pocket, even when he was just fetching the mail or making a cup of tea. If I happened to be in the same room when it buzzed or chimed, his fingers would instinctively hover over the screen, a quick, almost furtive swipe obscuring any incoming notification.

“Everything alright, Arthur?” I’d asked once, a gentle prod, my hand resting on his arm as he scrolled through something with a furrowed brow.