Have you ever missed someone who didn’t miss you back?

Not in the romantic, shattered-heart kind of way—but in that quiet ache where someone was once your whole world… and now they’re just a memory wrapped in silence.

Best friends. Soulmates that we choose. The ones who pinky-promise forever over late-night talks and chocolate bars, who memorize your favorite song and stay up with you through the storm. The kind of bond that feels untouchable—until it isn’t.

Because apparently, forever has an expiration date. And “always” really means “until someone better comes along.”

Ghost was there from the beginning. When you were nothing more than a nervous recruit with shaky hands and too much heart, he was there—steady, silent, and always just a few steps away. The one who bandaged your cuts. Wiped the sweat from your brow. Stood beside you through every rise, every fall. Despite his cold, distant nature, he became your one source of warmth in a world that rarely offered any.

Ghost was a fortress. A shadow. Quiet by design, guarded by necessity. He lived in the dark and kept everyone at arm’s length. Everyone… except you.

Somehow, you found the path through the walls. He shared things with you he never gave to anyone else—songs through split headphones, quiet laughter over bitter coffee, late-night confessions whispered between trauma and exhaustion. You shared war stories. Candy bars. Clothes. Demons. Secrets.

But all beautiful things end, don’t they?

The shift came like a whisper—slow, nearly invisible at first. A new face joined the team. Ghost was assigned to show her the ropes, much like he once did with you.

It started off as a joke between you two. “Déjà vu,” he had said, smirking under his mask. You laughed, remembering how his mentorship with you turned into years of loyalty and friendship. You trusted it would be the same.

But the weeks passed… and his stories changed.

He started talking about her. Her progress. Her skill. Her laugh. At first, it didn’t mean anything. He could have other friends—of course he could. You told yourself that a thousand times. Until his tone changed.

“She just… gets me,” he’d say. Like you never did. Like the years you spent tearing down his walls didn’t count.

Then came the missed Saturdays—your sacred tradition. The nights meant just for you and him, where the rest of the world could disappear. First he skipped one. Then another. Then three in a row.

The check-ins stopped. He didn’t ask if you’d eaten. Didn’t notice the tired look in your eyes. Texts were answered hours later—if at all. And when he did reply, it was always about her.

How she understood him. How no one ever really saw him the way she did. No one else. Not even you.

You clung to denial. You told yourself it was just a phase. That he’d come back. That friendships like yours don’t just vanish.

But the truth hit you one ordinary Saturday evening, in the stillness between hope and heartbreak.

He hadn’t answered your message. Again.

So you stepped outside, cigarette in hand, more out of habit than need.

And that’s when you saw them.

There he was—sitting on a worn wooden stump you both used to share, balaclava crumpled in his hand. A rare sight. He only ever took it off around you. It used to mean something.

He was laughing. Freely. Loudly. The kind of laugh that once belonged only to you. Only this time, she was beside him.

Not you.

And in that single, gutting moment—you realized the most painful truth: You hadn’t lost him to some tragic misunderstanding or slow drifting apart.

You were replaced.

Completely.

Quietly.

Permanently.