One day, he was there.
The next… he wasn't.
No goodbye.
No explanation.
No final fight dramatic enough to justify the silence.
Just absence.
A quiet, unbearable absence.
At first, I panicked. I checked everything constantly—messages, calls, social media, old conversations. I replayed every moment in my head trying to figure out where things changed.
But there was nothing.
No answers.
And somehow, that became the hardest part of all.
Because heartbreak is easier when someone gives you a reason to hate them.
But he didn't.
He just disappeared.
Yet somehow… not completely.
Every once in a while, he'd appear again like nothing happened. Watching my stories. Liking a message months later. Sending dry replies that carried no emotion but still managed to ruin my entire day.
We were still in touch.
But not really.
Close enough to remember each other.
Far enough to become strangers again.
And that kind of almost-love destroys people slowly.
I began mourning someone who was still alive. Someone I could still technically reach… but could no longer reach emotionally.
It felt pathetic sometimes, still loving someone who had mastered the art of disappearing.
But love doesn't leave just because it should.
Part 9: The Death of Happy Endings
After a while, I stopped believing in happy endings.
Not because I wanted to be negative… but because every time I touched love, it turned into loss.
Maybe some people are meant to experience love.
And maybe some people are only meant to survive it.
I became quieter after him.
Not visibly. People still saw me smile, still heard me laugh, still thought I was okay. But inside me, something had changed permanently.
I no longer dreamed the same way.
I stopped imagining forever with anyone. Stopped fantasizing about being chosen. Because every time I let myself believe, I ended up alone with memories that refused to leave.
And the worst part?
I still loved him.
Not loudly. Not desperately. But in the quietest corners of my heart, he still existed.
Like a scar that healed wrong.
Sometimes I wondered if he ever thought about me too. If he ever reread our old conversations. If my name ever crossed his mind late at night the way his still crossed mine.
But I stopped asking.
Because unanswered questions became the closest thing I ever got to closure.
And eventually… I accepted it.
Some people don't break your heart all at once.
Some people do it slowly—
by leaving piece by piece
until there's nothing left of the version of you that believed love was supposed to stay.