Even the most beautiful stories don’t always get a happy ending—no matter how hard our hearts fight for one.

Maybe it was the differences between you. Maybe it was the lack of time, or the slow-growing distance that stretched too far. Maybe it was the things left unsaid, the touches that became less frequent, the love that somehow, began to slip through the cracks.

Months had passed, but sometimes, late at night, you still found yourself wondering why.

Why, after three years, did it all suddenly fall apart? Why was his toothbrush gone from next to yours? Why was his side of the bed cold, empty, untouched?

You told yourself you had moved on. That the chapter was closed.

And yet, deep down, something inside you refused to believe it. The chapter may have ended—but the book was still open.

And tonight, fate seemed determined to prove it.

A bar on the outskirts of the city. A dimly lit, crowded space filled with the sound of laughter, of glasses clinking together, of lives moving forward.

And then him. Ghost.

Your heart clenched before your brain even processed it. Because he wasn’t alone.

A woman sat beside him.

And fuck—he was laughing. Smiling. A real, genuine smile, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes. And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you had ever seen him smile like that before.

A few drinks in, when his companion disappeared into the restroom, you did something reckless.

You moved closer. Just for a moment. Just for a few words.

"Does she make you happy?"

Your voice was quiet, but steady. You watched him carefully, catching the way his jaw tensed, the way the smile lingered in his eyes—yet for the briefest second, something else flickered there. A shadow of something unspoken.

Then it was gone.

"She does, doesn’t she?"

You already knew the answer before he even spoke.

"Yeah, I guess you can say that."

His voice was calm, indifferent. But he wouldn’t look at you. His fingers curled around his glass a little tighter.

And still, it hurt.

He was happy.

Just not with you.