Chapter 1: The Last Message

Her POV

The cursor blinked on my screen, waiting. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, frozen, stuck between sending another message I knew he wouldn’t answer and just deleting it altogether.

"I won’t bother you anymore. This will be the last time. I promise."

I had typed those words so many times before. Yet, no matter how much I told myself to stop, I always came back. Always found another excuse to reach out. Another reason to try again.

Maybe this time, he would say something different. Maybe this time, he would tell me what I needed to hear.

But deep down, I already knew the truth.

He wasn’t coming back.

I closed my eyes, inhaling sharply as my chest tightened. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We weren’t supposed to end up like strangers, pretending we never meant anything to each other.

The phone screen dimmed, his last reply staring back at me.

"This is what you wanted."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. How ironic. He thought I wanted this—this distance, this emptiness. But if he had really looked closer, if he had really listened, he would have known.

I never wanted to let go.

But maybe, just maybe, I had no choice anymore.

I turned my phone over, face down, as if that would silence the ache building in my chest. The weight of everything pressed down on me—every unanswered message, every moment of doubt, every memory that clung to me like a ghost I couldn't exorcise.

I thought about all the times I had reached for him, only to be met with cold responses, with silence. I thought about the way he used to look at me—like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. Where did that go? How did we go from everything to… this?

My fingers curled into fists. Maybe I was being selfish. Maybe I had held on too tightly, asked for too much. But was it really so wrong to want reassurance? To crave the warmth that once felt so natural between us?

I exhaled shakily, forcing myself to accept it. He’s done. He doesn’t want this anymore.

Then why does it still feel like he’s the only one I want?

The screen lit up again, making my breath hitch. For a second, hope sparked in my chest—until I saw it.

Not a reply. Not a message.

Just… "Seen."

I let out a shaky laugh. That hurt more than any goodbye ever could.

I stared at the screen for a long time before finally pressing delete chat.

I wanted to believe that erasing the conversation would erase the feelings too. But I knew better. This wasn’t how love worked.

Even if I let go, a part of me would always be waiting.

His POV

I saw the message. Read it twice.

"I won’t bother you anymore. This will be the last time. I promise."

She had said that before. And every time, I had told myself to ignore it, to not fall back into the cycle of arguments, of expectations I couldn't meet. But something about tonight felt different.

Still, I didn’t reply.

Not because I didn’t care. But because I didn’t know what to say anymore.

I ran a hand through my hair, staring at the screen, debating. If I answered, we would go in circles again. She’d ask questions I didn’t know how to answer. She’d want to fix things, to understand me in ways I wasn’t ready to let her.

And if I didn’t answer… maybe she would finally move on.

That was what she needed, wasn’t it? To move on. To stop holding on to something that was already falling apart.

But if that was true, why did my chest feel so heavy?

I could still hear her voice in my head—soft, pleading, desperate for something I had no idea how to give. I could still see the way her eyes searched mine, waiting for reassurance, waiting for me to try.

And maybe that was the problem.

She was always waiting for me to fight. But what if I didn’t know how?

I sighed, locking my phone, pushing it aside. Out of sight, out of mind. That was how I handled things. That was how I 'had' to handle things.

But no matter how much I tried to convince myself that this was for the best, I knew.

I knew I would miss her.

I knew that in the quiet moments, when the world slowed down and my mind wasn’t distracted, I would wonder if I made a mistake.

But by then, she would be gone.

Her POV

It’s been three days. Three days since I last messaged him. Three days since I promised myself I wouldn’t reach out again.

And yet, here I am—staring at my phone, fighting the urge to check if he’s online.

I wish I could say it’s getting easier. That every passing second dulls the ache in my chest. But the truth is, it still hurts just the same. The silence is deafening, wrapping around me like a slow suffocation. I never realized how much space he took up in my life until now—until he wasn’t there.

My fingers itch to type something, anything, just to remind him I still exist. Just to see if maybe, 'just maybe', he’s thinking about me too. But I stop myself.

No. I can’t keep doing this.

I roll onto my side, staring blankly at the ceiling, the weight of sleepless nights settling into my bones. I replay every conversation, every moment, wondering if there was something I could have done differently. Maybe if I had been less emotional, less persistent, he wouldn’t have pulled away. Maybe if I had given him more space, he would have wanted to stay.

Or maybe… he was always going to leave.

I swallow down the lump in my throat, blinking away the sting of tears.

I need to stop. I need to move forward.

Even if every part of me still longs for him.

His POV

Three days.

She hasn’t messaged me in three days.

I should feel relieved. This is what she said she would do, what I told myself I wanted. But for some reason, it doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would.

I find myself checking my phone more than usual, out of habit maybe—or something else. But there’s nothing. No missed calls. No long messages filled with emotions I don’t know how to handle.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

I tell myself this is for the best. That she’s finally moving on, that she deserves to find peace without me dragging her down.

So why does it feel like something is missing?

I rub a hand over my face, frustrated. I don’t understand why this is bothering me so much. I was the one who needed space. I was the one who pulled away first.

Then why does it feel like she’s the one leaving me behind?

I don’t text her. I don’t reach out.

But as I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, I realize something.

Maybe I thought she would always come back. Maybe I thought no matter how many times I pushed her away, she would still be there, waiting.

But this time… she’s not.

And for the first time, the thought of losing her for good scares me.

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