You weren’t sure why you were here, in the middle of a reception full of happy people drinking, chatting and celebrating. You were the odd one out, and the more you stayed there, the more you regretted your decision.

When the invite arrived in your mail, it sat on the table untouched for weeks, tormenting you. It almost felt ironic: he’d said he’d never fall in love because of you, yet he’d moved on immediately.

It had been years since you’d last seen Simon, and well…the two of you hadn’t ended things on the best of terms. He’d seen an anchor in you, his lighthouse in the middle of the ocean. For you…he’d been a good experience. Had you broken his heart? Probably, but then he had to go and break yours, falling in love with…her. You weren’t even sure why you were so salty about it, perhaps it was just a question of pride.

Now you had to watch him be in love just like the two of you were– if you ever were.

You had felt them, those brown eyes of his following you throughout the evening, but he hadn’t dared come close to you, not until then. You were on the balcony, a cigarette in hand and cradling your champagne flute in the other. His heavy steps registered in your ears like muscle memory.

“You came, huh?” His tone was bitter, alcohol lingering in his breath. “Yeah.” You hummed, turning around; you felt sorry for him, recognising the contrasting emotions in his gaze. “You know,” he spoke again, leaning against the railing. “We could’ve worked out, me and you.”

A soft scoff escaped your lips, and you shook your head. “You wanna know why we didn’t work out, Simon?” He stayed silent. “Because for you, I was the love of your life. But you…you were not mine.”

His brows furrowed as he tried to understand your words through his drunken haze, but you saw a flicker of hurt in his brown eyes. “...what?” He asked, his voice barely above a pained whisper.