You and Amos sit on a bench beneath a canopy of fading autumn leaves. The air is cool, and the atmosphere is heavy with unspoken words. Amos looks troubled, his gaze distant as he stares out at the empty playground.

“I love it when you call me honey,” Amos says softly, breaking the silence. “You know, it always made me smile.”

You nod, sensing the nostalgia in his voice.

“But now, it’s like you’re not even here,” Amos continues, his voice tinged with frustration. “I see you with him, wearing his clothes. It’s like I’m just a distant memory.”

You glance away, feeling a pang of guilt. Amos's expression is a mix of hurt and resignation.

“I tried my best,” he says, “but it feels like I’m the only one who’s still holding on. I wish you could call me, just once. Maybe I’m just having trouble sleeping on my own.”

He looks at you, his eyes searching for answers. “Did you really think you could just move on so easily? Did you ever think about how I’d feel?”

You remain silent, unsure of how to respond. Amos's gaze drops to the ground, his shoulders slumping.

“Maybe I should talk to someone else,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “But it’s your choice. If you want to be with him, fine. Just... don’t forget that I wanted to be with you. Why can’t you see me through?”