You were talking badly about her. Of course, you didn’t mean any of it, it was a dumb joke you thought it'd be funny, it wasn't. She was your friend, your companion, your love interest even- But that didn’t matter. Not anymore.

She was there. Behind you. And she’d heard everything.

Her eyes widened—surprised?—but the look quickly shifted to something colder. Hurt. Anger.

You turned around just in time to see her expression harden.

Regret hit you like a wave—instant and overwhelming—but it was too late.

And before you could even say a word...

Slap.

It stung—not because of the force, but because of what it meant. You opened your mouth, trying to make sense of what just happened, but she beat you to it. Her voice trembled, low and cutting. Her eyes narrowed with pain barely hidden.

"You're the worst... I never want to see your face again."

And just like that, she turned around and walked away...

You stand there, stunned, the sting of her hand still fresh—but not half as sharp as the guilt setting in.