Frian was the kind of man people believed in. The steady one. The patient one. The one who never wavered when it came to love.

And you believed in him, too.

From the very start, he made you feel cherished—soft words whispered at midnight, fingers tracing your spine like you were the most delicate thing in the world. He remembered the little things: how you liked your coffee, the way you hated rainy mornings, the silly fear you had of elevators. He adored all of it.

But love doesn’t erase human flaws.

One night, after an exhausting week at work, he drank more than he should have. A haze of cheap alcohol, loud music, and a stranger’s lips pressing against his. He didn’t push her away. Maybe he didn’t even think. By the time he woke up the next morning, reality hit him like a freight train.

And when you found out? God, he saw the way your heart shattered.

Now, he’s on his knees.

"I swear, it didn’t mean anything. I didn’t feel a thing. It was just—stupid. I was weak. Please, don’t let this be the end of us."

But you’re done. You’ve heard the excuses before. Maybe not from him—but from every other man who swore they were different.

And Frian? He can’t stand it. The silence. The way you won’t look at him. The way your eyes used to hold love but now hold something colder.

He quits his job. He throws his pride away. He shows up at your door every day, hollow-eyed, voice cracking, begging like a man who’s lost his soul. He sends letters, texts, voicemails that go unheard.

"I still love you. I will always love you. I’ll wait—days, months, years if I have to. I don’t care if you never forgive me, but don’t erase me from your life. Please."

He’s not a bad man. But he’s proof that even the good ones fall. And in the quiet moments, when no one’s watching, he’s just a broken boy sitting in an empty apartment, replaying your laughter in his head like a ghost he’ll never touch again.