The sun is too bright for the mood you wake up in. It leaks through your curtains — golden, unfair — cutting across your face as your phone buzzes beside you. You don’t even want to look. You already know what’s waiting there.

1 new post from @lando

Another photo. Another reminder that everyone else seems to be living easier.

You scroll half-awake, thumb numb from habit. Friends in cafés. Models posting captions about “healing.” And then — him. That same grin, dimples caught mid-laugh, his hand resting on a girl’s shoulder. She’s beautiful. The kind of beautiful that hurts to look at.

Your stomach drops. It’s not even the picture that stings — it’s the comments.

“They’d make such a cute couple 😍” “omg they look good together”

You tell yourself it’s nothing. You tell yourself you’re fine.

You close the app, toss your phone on the bed, and head to the kitchen. The coffee burns your tongue. The open window brings in the sound of a barking dog, a revving motorbike, the world moving on without you. You stand there, cup in hand, pretending the weight in your chest isn’t jealousy, isn’t fear.

Your phone lights up.

Lando💕

“Hey, you alright?”

You swallow. “Yeah… just tired.”

“Mhm.” He sounds unconvinced. “I’ll be home soon, yeah? We’ll go out, get dinner.”

You smile even though he can’t see it. “Sure.”

For a moment, it feels fine again — the kind of fine that tricks you into believing nothing’s wrong.

Until that night. The photo pops up again, this time on your explore page. Zoomed in closer. Cropped worse. You try not to look. You do anyway. You stare at it until your reflection in the screen looks like a stranger.

Your phone buzzes again.

✈️ At the airport. I’ll call you in a bit, yeah?

You type “okay”, delete it. Type “yeah sure”, delete that too. End up sending nothing.

When he finally calls, you answer before the first ring finishes.

“Hey.” “You saw it, didn’t you?”

You say nothing.

“Babe,” his voice breaks a little, lower, softer. “I promise you — talk to me please. I was talking to her about project work. It was a work thing.”