He didn’t meet your eyes.

There was a long, heavy pause — one that said more than words ever could.

“You still love her, don’t you?” you asked, the truth already weighing in your chest.

His shoulders stiffened, but he gave a small nod, eyes cast down like he couldn’t bear to look at you.

Guilt clung to him like a second skin.

“…You’re not her.” he murmured, the words low and almost apologetic, like he hated himself for saying them.

But you already knew.

You weren’t her. You never could be.

His voice broke a little with finality as he added:

“And you never will be.”