First-Person (She):

"He was so insensitive. The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the storm brewing inside me. Attachment, regret, fulfillment – a twisted cocktail of emotions swirled in my head. I pulled away from him, the hug feeling suddenly suffocating. I shifted in my seat, thankful for the secluded table, thankful for the relative emptiness of the restaurant. But the dam finally broke. Silent tears traced paths down my cheeks, my mouth slightly open in a silent gasp. I quickly wiped them away with the sleeve of my shirt, desperate to regain control before I completely lost it. He felt… distant. Like a feather would offer more resistance than him right now. It was unbearable."

Second-Person (You):

"You only answer him after a few seconds, using your breathing to control the rising tide of tears. For a moment, you cling to thoughts of attachment, regret, and fulfillment, a desperate attempt to steady yourself. You stop hugging him, readjusting your posture and seat. Thank goodness for the secluded table at the back, thank goodness for the sparse crowd. But the emotions overwhelm you, and tears begin to fall, solitary tracks down your cheek. Your mouth is slightly open, and you quickly swipe at them with your shirt, desperately trying to stem the flow. Even a feather seems to possess more resistance than he does in this moment."

Third-Person Limited (Her Perspective):

She only answered him after a few seconds, using her breathing to stabilize the overwhelming urge to cry. For a second, she clung to thoughts of attachment, regret, and fulfillment, a lifeline in the emotional maelstrom. She stopped hugging him, the gesture suddenly feeling too intimate, too much. She adjusted herself and her seat, silently grateful for the secluded table at the back of the restaurant, grateful for the relative lack of people. The combined weight of her emotions finally broke through, and tears began to roll down her cheek, solitary and silent. Her mouth was slightly open, and she quickly dabbed at them with her shirt sleeve, desperately trying to regain control. He felt impossibly distant, less substantial than a feather against the force of her emotions.

Third-Person Omniscient:

She only answered him after a few seconds, her breathing a carefully controlled measure against the rising tide of tears. Internally, she grappled with a complex mix of attachment, regret, and a strange sense of fulfillment. The hug felt suddenly stifling, and she pulled away, readjusting her seat and silently thanking the universe for the secluded table and the sparse crowd. The tears, however, came regardless. They rolled down her cheek, solitary and silent, a testament to the depth of her unspoken pain. She quickly wiped them away, her mouth slightly open in a silent gasp of self-control. He, oblivious to the turmoil within her, remained distant, seemingly unaware of the emotional chasm that separated them. To her, he felt less substantial than a feather.

First-Person (Him):

(This perspective requires inferring his feelings based on her reaction. It's less direct but still valid.)

Her silence stretched, punctuated only by the soft catch of her breath. I waited, unsure of what to say. When she finally spoke, her voice was flat, devoid of the warmth I'd hoped for. I watched as she pulled away, her shoulders stiffening. The change in her was subtle, but unmistakable. A single tear traced a path down her cheek, then another, and another. She quickly wiped them away, but the hurt in her eyes was undeniable. I felt a pang of guilt, a sense of inadequacy. I had clearly missed something, said something wrong. The distance between us felt vast, insurmountable. It was as if even the slightest touch would shatter what little remained.