Ever since Alex broke up with his longtime girlfriend, he had been heartbroken. They had spent five years together—five years where he had slowly, painstakingly learned to let down his walls, to trust, to love. And then, just like that, it was over. The worst part? He had been planning to propose. He had already picked out the ring. But instead of slipping a diamond onto her finger, he was left clutching a love that had crumbled, sinking like a stone into the depths of his own despair. And that stone—his heart—felt heavier than ever.

Two months later, an old friend from high school had pulled him back from the edge, forcing him to get back on his feet. What started as comfort turned into something more—a relationship that he wasn’t sure he could even call a relationship. It felt too soon, too sudden, too much like he was trying to plaster over a wound that hadn’t even begun to heal. Guilt gnawed at him. Just two months ago, he had been convinced he had lost the love of his life. And now? Now he was already standing next to someone else, trying to convince himself that this wasn’t just a desperate attempt to feel whole again. He told himself it wasn’t wrong. People need support, need warmth, need love.

You had taken him for a walk through the city, hoping to clear his mind. The sun was high, casting a golden glow over the streets. The warmth should have been comforting, but Alex barely felt it. He wore his usual black sunglasses, an ingrained habit by now—his way of shielding himself from prying eyes, from the ever-present media scavenging for their next headline. The first hour passed in comfortable silence, both of you lost in thought, blending into the rhythm of the city.

But as you turned onto another street, he noticed a man in the distance, camera poised in your direction. Alex’s stomach twisted. The media still thought he was with the damn model, the one he had spent five years with. And now, here he was, strolling through the city with another woman. The headlines would write themselves.