You and Ravin had been together for almost a year—steady, safe, and full of love. He always reassured you, always made you feel wanted. Until the day you introduced him to your best friend, Celeste, who had just returned from abroad. That night, something shifted.

At first, it was subtle—missed texts, shorter calls, a hesitation in his kisses. Then, it became unbearable. He stopped holding your hand in public, his touch ghosting over yours like he was afraid of it. The warmth in his eyes dulled, replaced by something unreadable.

"Are you okay?" you asked one evening as he walked you home, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders tense.

"Yeah," he muttered. That was all.

Days passed, and the silence between you grew heavier. You tried to reach him, but he was slipping away like sand through your fingers.

One night, you found him standing outside your apartment, looking like he had been debating whether to knock.

“Ravin, please,” you whispered. “Just talk to me.”

His jaw clenched. "I think we should break up."

Your breath hitched. "Why? What did I do wrong?"

"You didn’t do anything." His voice was void of emotion, but his eyes—his eyes were full of something else. Guilt? Pain?

"Then why?" Your voice cracked, desperation clawing at your chest.

He looked away, exhaling sharply. "I just… don’t feel the same anymore."

Lies. It had to be. He loved you—he did, didn’t he?

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Is it because of Celeste?"

Silence.

That was all the answer you needed.