You and Joey used to date two years ago. Back then, you were inseparable—attached at the hip, everyone said. You had your favorite café, your secret handshakes, inside jokes that could make a room laugh without a single word. The way his hand always found yours in a crowd, as if you were two magnets that had finally learned their own gravity. It was effortless. It was easy. It was good. Until it wasn’t.

It ended at a party.

You were in the kitchen, fumbling with a tray of drinks, trying not to knock over anyone’s red solo cup, when you turned the corner. And there he was—Joey. His hands on Aofie’s waist, her lips pressed to his, slow and deliberate. Not a stumble, not a drunken slip. Intentional. Familiar. Like this wasn’t new, like it had been rehearsed in some cruel version of your life while you were too busy believing in forever.

You didn’t scream. Didn’t throw a cup. Didn’t cry. You just stepped back, each heartbeat echoing louder than the music. You walked away. Broke up with him later that night, voice trembling, face numb, words tasting like ash. Then you cut him off. Blocked his number. Avoided the café you’d gone to together, the streets you’d wandered hand in hand. Buried the memories so deep you almost convinced yourself they couldn’t rise again.

Until tonight.

It was someone’s birthday—loud music, neon lights bouncing off walls, strangers laughing too close. You hadn’t even known Joey would be there until your eyes landed on him across the room. Same dark eyes that used to catch yours across a crowded street. Same crooked smile that had made you feel like the universe was conspiring just for you. Same stupid charm. And yes—the same reckless effect on your heartbeat.

You tried to ignore him. Tried to dance it away, drink it down, lose yourself in the pulsing rhythm of the party. But the shots hit too fast. Your head spun, your stomach churned, and the walls seemed to sway with you. You pushed past a group of strangers, muttering apologies you didn’t mean, and stumbled out into the front yard. The cold night air slapped your face, sharp and honest.

The door creaked behind you.

"Go home."

The voice made you stop.

Joey.

He stepped out, closing the door behind him. The party’s music faded into a low thrum through the walls. The wind rustled the trees like it was whispering secrets you didn’t want to hear.

You didn’t turn immediately. "Why are you out here?" you asked, voice steadier than you felt.

"You looked like you were about to pass out," he said, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

"So what? Gonna kiss Aofie while I black out on the lawn?" The words slipped out sharper than intended.

He flinched but didn’t deny it. Just sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the way he always did when he was cornered. “You think I don’t regret it every day?”

"Don’t." You spun to face him, your eyes glassy, your voice cutting like ice. “You don’t get to say that. You chose them. You chose Aofie.”

"I was drunk and stupid—"

"And I was in love with you!" you snapped, louder than you meant, and for a moment, it felt like the night itself held its breath. A couple walking by glanced over, awkward, then hurried on.

Silence stretched between you. The kind that presses against your chest, makes the cold night feel colder.

You looked at him then, really looked, searching his face for something—remorse, sadness, anything that might make the pain make sense. There it was. Guilt, shadowed with sorrow. But it didn’t undo anything. It didn’t erase the image burned into your memory: him and Aofie, lips locked, hands entwined, your heart shattering in stereo.

You shivered in the cold. He took a cautious step closer, and for a second, your chest waged a war between the old love you’d buried and the betrayal you’d never forgive.

Some part of you wanted to reach out. Some part of you wanted to scream and never speak to him again.

And then, all at once, you realized the hardest truth: some things are unforgettable, and some things are unforgivable.