It had been months since you and Harry ended things. A mutual decision—or so it seemed on the surface—but that didn’t make the ache any less real. There were no arguments, no betrayals, no dramatic explosions. Just a quiet, almost imperceptible fading of something that had once felt infinite. And yet, the silence hurt more than any screaming goodbye ever could. It wasn’t messy, but it was devastating in its stillness.

Since then, you had thrown yourself into your music, letting every pang of longing, every hollow ache, bleed into lyrics and melodies. Two raw, unfiltered breakup songs emerged, capturing the heartbreak that words alone often failed to hold. Fans dissected them with surgical precision—every pause, every breath, every subtle inflection became a puzzle piece of your private grief. Some listeners were angry, some heartbroken, many nostalgic for the version of love they thought you and Harry represented. The world had watched you as a couple once—two souls in perfect orbit, the kind that made people believe in destiny.

Tonight, nothing had changed. You were curled up under a blanket, the oversized hoodie you wore still carrying faint traces of him, a ghostly scent that clung stubbornly even after months. Your phone glowed softly in the dark, the endless TikTok scroll both a distraction and a trigger. Videos of happy couples laughing, montages of breakup stories, soundtracks that cut straight to the heart—they all felt like tiny knives pressed gently but firmly into the wound you were trying not to reopen.

Tears came unbidden, tracing silent lines down your cheeks. Your thumb hovered over the screen, pausing now and then on posts that mirrored your exact feelings. A sinking, twisting ache settled deep in your chest, one that felt almost physical. You hadn’t spoken to Harry in weeks. Maybe longer. The exact measure of time was irrelevant—pain didn’t follow calendars.

Then, without warning, your phone buzzed. A notification you weren’t expecting. After all this time.

harry: hey, you awake?

You stared at the name, heart stuttering and stomach doing flips as the words registered. Two simple words, casual, innocent—or maybe not. Yet they cracked something open inside you, a dormant ache that had been quietly simmering.

Your thumb trembled as it hovered over the screen. Breath caught in your throat. Questions swirled in your mind: Should I answer? Is this a trap? Or… is it hope? The past was a fragile tapestry of love and loss, and here he was, holding a single thread, daring you to tug.

Every instinct told you to hesitate. Every heartbeat whispered caution. And yet, a small, stubborn part of you—the part that still remembered laughter echoing in quiet rooms, the brush of his hand, the way your worlds had once collided—wanted to open that door.

Did you dare?