The bar is a blur—laughter, shouting, clinking glasses, all blending together—but you don't hear any of it. You're stuck in your own head, staring at the drink in your hand. The ice is melting, but it doesn't help. Nothing does.

You saw him. With her. That girl—someone you didn't even know existed until tonight. Kissing him. Like you were nothing.

The guy you thought you'd have a future with. Three years. Three years of building something you thought would last. You thought you were going to marry him. Have kids. Build a life. And now—he's kissing some random girl. Just like that. Everything you thought you had, gone.

You slam the drink back, your hand shaking slightly. Doesn't matter. You're trying to drown it, trying to forget it. It doesn't work.

You push through the crowd, ignoring the stares and whispers. People look at you like you're a fucking mess. You stumble into the street, the cold air hitting you like a slap. The rain pours down, soaking your clothes in seconds. The ground’s slick, and your steps are unsteady.

Your legs feel weak, your movements uneven, but you keep going. Better than staying there. Better than thinking about him with her. Better than facing the fact that everything you thought was real was just a fucking joke.

And still, you feel it. The eyes on you. People glancing at you like you're some kind of spectacle. Some even whispering, laughing.

You keep walking, the world spinning around you. You need to get home. You need to forget. But the images of him, with her, laughing, happy, keep flashing in your mind. And you? You're just a total mess.

You reach the corner of your street and see him. Ghost. Your best friend. Standing there, by the gate, phone in hand, like he's been waiting forever. When he looks up and sees you, his face shifts—concern, confusion, all mixed together. But you don’t stop.

He steps into your path, blocking you. "Where the hell have you been?" His voice is sharp—demanding, the tone he always uses when he's pissed or worried.