Five years || Timothée Chalamet

Ten months had passed since Timothée left Bordeaux. His world in New York had been a whirlwind of filming, press interviews, and late-night script readings. But amidst the constant buzz of his career, there was a deep, unshakeable emptiness in his life. He had thrown himself into work, hoping that the hours on set and the exhaustion from his responsibilities would push aside the constant ache in his chest. The ache that came from being so far away from Dahlia, from Rhia.

Every few weeks, he would video call Dahlia. At first, she would greet him with excitement, her face lighting up at the sound of his voice. But as the months dragged on, the calls became shorter, and her smile, while still genuine, wasn't as wide as it used to be. Timothée could see the distance growing between them, the time difference between the two continents making it harder to keep the connection alive.

On one particularly quiet evening, as he sat in his hotel room in New York, he dialed Rhia's number. It had been a while since they'd talked—he didn't want to be overbearing, but the silence between them had become deafening. She had sent him short messages here and there, but they had both been avoiding the harder conversations. Timothée felt the weight of the months pressing down on him, and he couldn't help but wonder if Rhia was still holding on to the pain he had caused.

The phone rang three times before she picked up. Her face appeared on the screen, tired but still beautiful, her eyes giving away none of the thoughts swirling behind them.

"Hey," Timothée greeted softly, trying to sound upbeat, though the sadness in his voice was hard to hide.

"Hi," Rhia replied, her tone cautious. "How's New York?"

"It's... busy," he said, trying to keep the conversation light. "But I miss you. I miss Dahlia."

Rhia looked down for a moment, her fingers tapping the side of her phone, before meeting his gaze again. "She misses you too. But you're busy with work, right? That's why you're not calling as often."

"I know," he said, running a hand through his hair, the frustration evident on his face. "It's not that I don't want to talk to her, or to you. It's just... I don't want to keep bothering you both when I know things are different now."

Rhia sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Things are different, Timothée. You were gone for so long, and Dahlia's... well, she's adjusting. She's growing up."

"Fuck... I know," he whispered. "And I've missed so much of it."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was filled with all the things left unsaid, the hurt from the past still lingering in the air.

"I've been trying to be a better father," Timothée finally said, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't expect you to forgive me or make it all better right away, but I want to be there for Dahlia. I want her to know that I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm not asking for you to fix everything overnight," Rhia replied, her voice steady, but the vulnerability underneath it was clear. "But I need to know you mean it, Timothée. That you're not just playing the role of the father because you feel like you should."

"I mean it," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto hers. "I will be there. I promise. When this movie's over, I'm coming back for good."

Rhia's lips tightened, and for a second, Timothée thought she was going to end the conversation. But instead, she took a deep breath and nodded.

"Just... don't let it be too late," she said quietly, the words hanging in the air between them. "Dahlia needs you now, not when it's convenient for you."