You and Arthur shared something warm—perhaps not flawless, but real, and for a while, it was good. Sweet, even.

But lately, he’d been slipping away like light fading at dusk. The dinners you once looked forward to? “I already ate, sweetheart.” Movie nights and spontaneous baking sessions? “I’m not really feeling it.” Each excuse, gentle in tone but sharp in meaning, slowly eroded the bond you tried so hard to preserve. You were pouring yourself into something that was hollowing out—like holding up a crumbling wall alone.

Then came your college’s graduation celebration for final-year students—a milestone, a memory. Of course, you were there to support your boyfriend. That’s what love does: it shows up.

After the ceremony, diplomas were clutched, caps thrown, cheers echoing through the halls of endings and beginnings. You looked for him. Odd—he hadn’t sought you out first.

And then you saw him.

And it hit. God, did it hit.

There he was, smiling into someone else’s eyes, arms wrapped tightly around a waist that wasn’t yours. His forehead rested against hers, his lips scattering kisses across her face—tender, possessive, unambiguous.

Too close for a friend. Far too close for just a friend.

And in that moment, your heart learned a new kind of breaking.