Scene: Midnight – Your 20th Birthday

You stood outside the restaurant, right under the glowing sign, breath rising in soft clouds. Midnight air was cold, but your hands were warm — one holding tightly to a bouquet of her favorite flowers. Red and white. You’d even trimmed the stems yourself.

Hair styled. New hoodie, fresh from the plastic. Shoes clean. And you smiled — nervously.

It wasn’t just your birthday. It was your day. Her and you. Like old times. The same spot you first kissed her. Same table by the window. You wanted that again.

The minutes passed. Then an hour. Then another.

Waiters started closing up. Chairs flipped onto tables. Lights dimmed. One of them came to you and apologized softly, said they had to shut down.

You chuckled. Low. Dry. Embarrassed. You waved it off and stepped outside, glancing at your phone again.

Then — ding.

You looked down. A message. From her.

“We’re breaking up. Don’t ask why.”

That’s all. One line. No heart. No emoji. Nothing. And then — blocked.

Everything. Phone. Socials. Email. All dead.

You stood there. Silent. Cold. The bouquet crinkled in your grip.

You didn’t even feel your feet move. You just ran. Fast. Through the city. Lights blurred. The wind stabbed your cheeks. You didn’t stop.

You reached the apartment. Door half open.

Inside, she was packing. Calm. Quiet. Folding her things like it was just a trip. You stood there in the doorway, panting. Hair a mess now. Shoes muddy.

“Namra?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t look.

You walked in, still holding the flowers, your voice shaking.

“What did I do?” “What happened? You were supposed to—today’s—”

She zipped a bag. Pulled her coat on. Her face was blank.

“You’re too childish,” she muttered without turning. “Too much. Always running. Always trouble.”

Then silence.

You stood frozen. Your chest was burning, but not a word came out.

You reached out to grab her arm — gently. She pulled away. Didn’t even glance back.