CHAPTER2:

Chapter 2: Falling and Breaking

This time, we really started talking. I felt like a kid again—heart pounding, always happy, like the world had suddenly made sense. But deep down, a voice in my head warned me: karma would catch up. I didn’t want to lose her. I wanted to give my best, to show her that I was the one who could be everything she needed.

I was head over heels, completely out of control. Yet my past haunted me like a shadow, whispering that I might ruin something genuine before it even began.

Our relationship started smooth—like most do. We shared our likes, our dislikes, ranted about school, and I made sure she was okay, happy at the end of each day. My intentions were clear and pure—I wanted something real, a true connection, not just a fleeting feeling.

For four months, we were happy. Really happy, especially for a talking stage. But good things don’t always last.

It began slowly—the joy and effort started to fade. Conversations grew shorter, and I noticed how she didn’t seem to want to talk as much. Everything shifted, like the energy between us changed, and it became hard for me to focus—especially with exams coming up.

I asked her to meet me at the mall. She said she wouldn’t come. Still, I told her I’d wait, whether she showed or not.

I waited until it got dark. When I saw my aunt and little cousin, I left with them, trying to ease the sadness crushing me. I just wanted to talk, to fix everything. But that night, I went to bed heartbroken.

The next day, on my way home from school, she messaged me: she’d meet me at the same place.

I rushed there, arriving first, the weight of my sorrow almost overwhelming. But then I saw her walking toward me—still beautiful, still stunning.

She apologized, saying her mind wasn’t okay. I comforted her, promising we could make it work. I wanted to prove that I could love her more than anyone else, that we could last.

For a moment, it felt like we might.

But a week later, during exam week, she messaged me again—this time to say we should stop.

I was shattered. I simply said okay and couldn’t focus. My exam scores dropped. I spent the next month crying through the nights, trying to make sense of what I lost.

After she left, the old me started creeping back in—the part of me that believed if I couldn’t be happy, no one else should be either. If you asked me now, I’d admit how messed up that was, but at the time, it felt like the only way to cope.

I turned to smoking and alcohol to numb the pain, to silence the storm inside my head. I wanted to reach out to her, to message her, but I couldn’t. I was trapped in confusion, stuck asking myself the same questions over and over:

Where did I go wrong? Was it my fault? Am I really that hard to love?

The pain of not knowing why she left without explanation was like a knife twisting deeper every day.

What was the point of everything if I didn’t matter to her? How could she just disappear without giving me a chance to understand?

Those thoughts haunted me, and the darkness pulled me under, threatening to swallow me whole.

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