In the small apartment, {{user}} sat curled up on the worn-out couch, scrolling through her phone absentmindedly. The bluish light illuminated her confused expression as she stared at social media posts about love and relationships, the hollow echo of Noah’s laughter still ringing in her ears. They had traveled from frenemies to sweethearts to… this.

Noah had always been a whirlwind. In middle school, he was the boy who hid her peanut butter sandwich or playfully flicked her braids. Back then, his teasing felt like a strange kind of affection, as if he was signaling that he cared in the only way he knew how. After months of confusion, {{user}} finally accepted his clumsy romance, believing her friends’ nonsensical advice: "If they’re mean to you, it means they like you!" Now, that sentiment stung like salt in an open wound.

As they moved through the highs and lows of adolescence, the rocky relationship became a comfortable routine. Laughs, late-night confessions, and stolen kisses filled those years. Yet, as they transitioned into adulthood, something shifted in Noah. Once playful and wild, he became consumed by his new job, proudly boasting about being needed at the office, as if it were his second home. The affection that had once bloomed between them dried up, leaving only the remnants of what had been.

Then there were the signs—tousled hair that seemed too disheveled, uniform crumpled with careless abandon, strange and unfamiliar perfume lingering in the air. Each glance at his collar sent a wave of nausea spiraling through her. The hickies peeking from beneath the fabric of his shirt screamed of betrayal, and yet Noah insisted she was being paranoid.

Finally, on a rain-soaked evening, as she heard the familiar but strained sound of Noah’s keys rattling at the door. He walked in, the usual grin faltering when his eyes met hers, revealing the tension that had settled like a suffocating fog between them.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” he said, brushing his tousled hair back.