Check The Pulse
Finally Freen got what she wished for..A movie project but she had to fly out to another city for the shooting and breaking that news to Becky was tough.
Golden hour light poured through the windows, painting the apartment in hues of honey and amber. Freen sat across from Becky at the kitchen table, fingers nervously tapping against the rim of her water glass. The air between them felt fragile—like the kind of silence that carried too much meaning.
Freen finally broke it. “I got the part,” she said quietly.
Becky looked up from her tea, blinking. “The movie?”
Freen nodded, but the usual spark that lit up her eyes wasn’t quite there. “Yeah. They want me. The director was really impressed with my last short film… and the script is amazing. It’s… honestly a dream role.”
Becky smiled, warm but slightly wary. “That’s incredible, babe.”
She reached across the table, lacing their fingers together. “You deserve this.”
Freen hesitated, like she wasn’t sure whether to say it now or wait. But she knew waiting wouldn’t make it easier.
“There’s just one thing...” she added, carefully. “The shoot’s not here. It’s in Bristol. I’ll have to be there for three months.”
Becky stilled.
“Three months?” she repeated, her fingers tightening around the mug.
Freen’s voice softened. “I know it sounds long, but we’ll figure it out, yeah? We always do.”
Becky looked down into her tea, watching the little swirl of steam that had started to fade. “Yeah. Of course. It’s a huge opportunity. I’m happy for you.”
Freen could hear the effort in Becky’s voice—the way she tried to sound steady, supportive. But Freen also knew her too well to miss the quiet shift in her expression, the way her shoulders slightly dropped, like she was holding something heavier than just a mug.
“I can come back in between,” Freen offered. “There are gaps in the schedule. Maybe for a weekend, or you could fly in—”
Becky shook her head gently. “No, don’t do that. You’ll be exhausted. I don’t want to be the reason you’re not giving your best.”
“You are my reason, Bec,” Freen said, more earnestly than she meant to.
That made Becky finally look up. “I know. That’s what makes it harder.”
Freen brushed her thumb against Becky’s knuckles. “It’s not going to be easy. But I’ll call every day. Text. Send you dumb videos of me forgetting my lines. I’ll annoy you till you block me.”
Becky let out a soft laugh. “You already do that.”
“Then nothing will change,” Freen teased, though her eyes shimmered with something gentler, more vulnerable.
Becky exhaled, long and slow, her smile falling back into something sadder but sincere.
“Three months is an entire season,” she whispered. “You’ll leave in summer and come back when the leaves change.”
Freen nodded slowly. “I’ll come back to you. Just like I always do.”
There was a long pause.
Becky finally squeezed her hands. “Promise me, Freen... if things ever feel different—if the distance starts to pull us apart—you won’t hide it. Not even to protect me.”
Freen swallowed hard. “I promise.”
Becky smiled gently. “Good. Because I want us to stay real. Even if it hurts.”
Freen stood and walked around the table, pulling Becky into her arms. “I love you too much to ever be anything less than real with you.”
Becky leaned into the hug, eyes closing as she buried her face in Freen’s shoulder.
“I’ll miss you every day,” she mumbled.
“I’ll miss you every minute,” Freen replied, voice cracking ever so slightly.
And even though their bodies were still warm against each other, both of them felt the shift.
A subtle, invisible crack forming in the shape of three months apart.
But still—
They held on.
Tighter than ever.
_________
The airport was crowded—an orchestra of clinking trolley wheels, urgent footsteps, muffled announcements, and goodbyes spoken too quickly. But for Becky, all of it faded into a quiet hum, as if the world had pressed pause just around the two of them.
They stood by the departure gate, where the moments stretched longer than they should have. Freen’s suitcase was by her side, her passport tucked tightly into her hoodie pocket. Her nervous smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
"Three months will fly by, Becbec," Freen said gently, trying to sound like this was just another short trip. "We'll talk every day, okay? Video calls, texts—I’ll make time. I promise."
Becky nodded slowly, but her throat tightened as if it had forgotten how to swallow. She didn’t trust her voice just yet, so she focused on the little things—the loose strand of hair falling into Freen’s eyes, the crease forming between her brows when she worried too much, the way her hand fidgeted with the zip of her carry-on. Like memorizing her in pieces would help.
“Yeah,” Becky finally whispered. “Just... don’t get too busy and forget me.”
Her voice cracked at the end. She tried to hide it behind a half-hearted smile, but Freen heard it. Felt it. And it broke something inside her too.
Freen reached out, both hands gently cupping Becky’s face like she was trying to frame her in her memory, like she didn’t trust photos or video calls to capture this softness.
She leaned in and pressed a kiss to Becky’s forehead—a slow, lingering kiss that said all the things she was too scared to put into words. Her lips trembled slightly against Becky’s skin.
"As if I ever could," Freen whispered, closing her eyes like maybe if she held still enough, the clock would stop ticking.
Becky’s hands held onto Freen’s wrists, not quite ready to let go. Not yet.
“I hate this,” she mumbled, her voice buried into Freen’s hoodie.
“I know,” Freen replied, barely audible, her own throat thick. “Me too.”
They stayed like that for a moment—wrapped in the kind of silence that only exists when hearts are speaking louder than voices.
The final boarding call echoed through the terminal. Freen didn’t move.
“Go,” Becky said softly, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “Before I get selfish.”
Freen searched her face for a second, like she wanted to say something more—something big and impossible. But all she managed was:
“I love you.”
Becky nodded, tears brimming but not falling. “I love you too.”
One last kiss—tender, desperate, memorized.
Then Freen picked up her suitcase and walked toward the gate. She didn’t look back.
Becky stood there long after she disappeared from sight, her arms crossed over her chest like she was holding herself together.
And all she could think was—
Three months is a long time… for something you don’t want to end.
______
At first, they tried.
Late-night calls when their free time allows. Blurry video chats where Freen would be wrapped in a jacket, sitting outside her trailer with a paper cup of tea in her hand, the sound of background chatter and crew members echoing faintly behind her. Her voice was laced with exhaustion—but still, somehow, full of warmth.
Becky, on the other hand, was often curled up in their bed alone, the sheets cold, her laptop balanced on her stomach, the dim glow of the screen casting long shadows on the walls.
“Tell me about your day,” Becky would ask, trying to sound more awake than she was, even though her eyes burned from hours of work and her body ached from another day of being overlooked at the internship.
And Freen would smile, a soft curve of her lips even through the pixelation. She’d light up as she talked about the energy on set, the thrill of acting again. She spoke about the director’s vision, about her co-star who couldn’t stop forgetting lines, about how she cried on cue for the first time and the whole crew clapped.
Becky listened—really listened. Letting Freen’s excitement fill the silence in the room. But sometimes, as Freen's voice flowed on, Becky’s mind drifted. Not because she didn’t care. But because the more Freen talked, the more Becky felt that quiet fear crawling in.
A fear that maybe Freen’s world was growing larger while hers was shrinking.
Because when it was Becky’s turn to speak, she hesitated. How could she make her day sound remotely interesting after Freen just finished describing a scene where she ran barefoot through fake rain under spotlights?
“So... I filed reports today. Fixed the coffee machine. My supervisor thought I was someone else again,” Becky would laugh dryly. “The usual glamorous life.”
Freen would frown, instantly picking up the sarcasm. “Hey, don’t downplay it. I know how hard you’re working.”
Becky would smile. But it was the kind that didn’t reach her eyes.
She had never been the type to quit. Not when things got hard. Not even now. She kept waking up early, showing up to her internship with a straight back and tired eyes. She kept doing the work no one saw. She pushed through the stress, through the exhaustion.
But what no one told her was how loud the silence could be. How deeply it echoed through every room of their apartment when Freen wasn’t there to fill it with her humming, her bad jokes, her voice asking what they should have for dinner.
What no one told her was how empty one side of the bed could feel. Or how many times she would open her phone at 2:17 a.m., rereading old texts instead of writing new ones—because she didn’t want to bother Freen while she was sleeping or working.
Some nights, she left voice messages instead of calls. Quiet ones. Rambles, mostly.
“Hey,” Becky would whisper into her phone. “I bought your favorite chips today. Left them on the shelf like an idiot. Anyway... um... I miss you.”
Delete. Too clingy.
She tried again.
“I saw your story today. You looked really happy on set. I’m glad. I hope you’re eating well.”
Send.
Some nights, Freen replied in seconds. Other nights, hours passed. Sometimes days. And Becky would pretend she didn’t feel that cold space growing, one unread message at a time.
They still said “I love you.” Every call. Every goodbye. But Becky was beginning to wonder if love was enough when distance had so many ways of stealing your voice.
_________
Then the calls grew shorter.
Sometimes, they wouldn’t even happen.
“Sorry, love, I got caught up on set. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Becky, I swear, I meant to call. The shoot ran over. I barely got back to my hotel. Let’s talk soon?”
And Becky tried. God, she tried.
She would type out replies like, “It’s okay, rest well” or “I understand, don’t worry”—even when she didn’t understand. Even when she was sitting on the floor of their apartment, phone in hand, eyes stinging from waiting.
Even when the soup she made for herself went cold because she didn’t have the appetite anymore.
She’d reread their old texts when her heart got too loud. Scroll up to where Freen used to say things like “you’re my home” and “we’ll get through anything, naa becbec.”
Until the news articles started circulating.
Freen Sarocha and her co-star spotted laughing together after a late-night shoot.
New on-set chemistry? Fans speculate on their undeniable connection.
Freen and co-star Edward: The power couple we didn’t know we needed?
At first, Becky rolled her eyes. She knew how this worked. The media did this all the time. Anything for clicks.
She knew Freen. Knew her heart.
But then, Freen didn’t bring it up.
Didn’t text, “Ignore the news, bb. You know it’s not like that.”
Didn’t say, “I miss you. Only you.”
She just… stopped addressing it. As if it didn’t matter.
As if Becky wasn’t sitting here, miles away, staring at her phone at 2 a.m. and wondering why her chest felt so tight.
She stopped asking.
Because she was afraid of what the answer might be.
One night, she did type it out:
“Do you still think of me when you’re there? When the cameras are off? When they laugh at your jokes and look at you like I used to?”
But she never hit send.
Instead, she tucked the phone under her pillow and curled into herself, like maybe she could disappear into the quiet.
The apartment felt colder these days. Freen’s toothbrush still sat by the sink. Her hoodie still hung on the back of the chair. Her scent still lingered on the sheets.
But it wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t her.
It was memories pretending to be company.
And Becky was tired of pretending she wasn’t falling apart.
One night, Becky couldn’t take it anymore. She called, and for once, Freen picked up immediately.
"Hey, baby," Freen greeted, her voice light, like nothing was wrong.
"Can I come see you?" Becky asked, her voice betraying her desperation. "Just for a weekend. I’ll take a flight—"
"Bec..." Freen sighed. "You’re so busy with your internship, and it’s so hectic here. The schedules change every second. You’d fly all the way just to sit around waiting for me. It’s not a good idea."
"I don’t care about that!" Becky’s voice cracked. "I just want to see you. Even if it’s just for a few hours."
A long silence stretched between them.
"It’s not that simple, love," Freen finally said, softer this time. "I don’t want you exhausting yourself over this."
Becky’s hands curled into fists. "So what am I supposed to do? Just sit here and pretend like this doesn’t hurt? Like it doesn’t feel like we’re slipping away from each other?"
Another silence. This one felt heavier.
"BB," Freen said, barely above a whisper. "I love you. That hasn’t changed."
But it had. Becky could feel it. It wasn’t in Freen’s words—it was in what she wasn’t saying.
"It has changed," Becky said softly, her throat burning. "You just don’t want to say it out loud."
"Don’t do that," Freen murmured. "Don’t make it sound like I don’t care."
"You care," Becky said, "just… not enough. Not in the way you used to."
"That’s not true," Freen argued, but her voice lacked fire.
Becky swallowed the lump in her throat. "Do you even miss me the way I miss you?"
The question hung there, raw and open.
Freen just made the sound “huh?” didn’t even answer.
And that—God, that—said everything.
"Okay," Becky said, her voice hollow. "I get it. You’re busy."
"Don’t be like that," Freen sighed.
"Like what? Like someone who misses her girlfriend? Like someone who just wants to be a part of your life the way she used to be?"
Freen exhaled heavily. "Bec—"
"Forget it," Becky said, forcing a laugh that didn’t sound like her. "I’ll just— I’ll see you when you get back."
"Becky, wait—"
Her hands trembled in her lap as the silence filled the room again, louder than any argument could’ve been. Her phone screen dimmed. Her reflection stared back at her, eyes rimmed with tears she’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry tonight.
She sat there, trying to breathe through the ache in her chest.
She thought about how Freen used to pause entire interviews just to text her back. How she used to send her voice notes between shoots, sneak in “I miss you”s while getting her makeup done. How she once booked a flight in the middle of a campaign just because Becky had a bad day.
And now? Freen couldn’t spare a weekend. Not even a promise.
For the first time in four years, Becky felt something shifting. Something cold and irreversible.
She was still in love.
But she wasn’t sure Freen was still with her.
🎶 Till we were dead and gone and buried
Check the pulse and come back swearing, it's the same
After three months in the grave
And then you wondered where it went to as I reached for you
But all I felt was shame
And you held my lifeless frame…. 🎶