𝘈𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵.

The low hum of conversation and clinking silverware filled the air of the dimly lit Italian restaurant. Taylor, perched on a plush velvet banquette, watched as her girlfriend, a whirlwind of laughter and sunshine, animatedly recounted a story to their friends across the table. A pang of guilt, sharp and unexpected, pierced through Taylor's chest. She reached for her glass of water, the ice clinking against the rim, and took a long, deliberate sip.

"Shit, how should I tell her?" Taylor murmured, her voice barely audible over the chatter.

{{user}} oblivious to the shift in Taylor's demeanor, continued her story, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Taylor knew she should say something, needed to say something, but the words seemed to catch in her throat. The weight of their unspoken truth, the unspoken question hanging between them, felt suffocating.

𝘐𝘧 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨, 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.

{{user}} finally noticed the change in Taylor's expression, her smile fading slightly. The air between them thickened, the playful banter of their friends fading into a distant murmur. Taylor knew this was it, the moment she needed to speak, to break the fragile illusion of their casual arrangement.

𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘳𝘶𝘯, y𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦.

"I think we need to talk. I uhm...I found someone new. I mean we're not a thing, right? It’s all just...casual." Taylor finally said, her voice steady but laced with a tremor of emotion.