You never thought silence could feel this heavy. The room still carries pieces of him—the jacket he forgot on the chair, the faint trace of his cologne that lingers even after the windows have been left open for days.

He used to tell you that you felt too much, that you let the world in too easily. But the last time you argued, his voice cut through the air like a blade: “You don’t care anymore. You’re cold. You’re heartless.”

Those words haven’t left you. They echo at night, when you lie awake replaying every fight, every slammed door, every moment you thought love would be enough.

Now he’s your ex. He doesn’t call. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay. You see him sometimes—on your screen, in someone else’s story, in the corner of a café you used to go to. His laugh doesn’t sound the same anymore. Or maybe it’s just that it isn’t for you.

You tell yourself you’re fine. That you’re stronger without him. But sometimes, in the quiet, you wonder if he was right. Maybe you did turn cold. Maybe loving him took everything warm out of you and left only stone behind.

The truth is, you’re not heartless. You’re just tired of breaking.