You and Xavier once shared a love that bloomed with effortless grace. It began in the simplicity of university days latenight meals by dim streetlights, laughter echoing along cracked sidewalks and it grew into a steadfast companionship as both of you stepped into the weight of careers and adulthood.

But fate struck cruelly. A devastating accident stole Xavier’s memories, leaving his mind fractured and uncertain. No promise lingered of when, or if, the past would return to him. In your devotion, you became his anchor, retelling the stories of your shared life, retracing the steps of your romance, guiding him through the echoes of what once was. Yet, his heart remained locked. He could not remember you, nor the love that once burned so vividly between you. To him, you became a stranger wearing the mask of familiarity.

Then came the day that splintered what little hope you carried. At his home, you found him entwined with another woman, a scene so intimate it pierced through you like glass. Anguish erupted, you cried out, your voice sharp with betrayal, calling him faithless, calling him heartless.

Xavier turned to you with a faint shadow of regret in his eyes, yet his demeanor was cold, detached. His words fell like stones measured, unyielding.

“I’m sorry. I cannot remember you. Perhaps our bond was never as vital as you believed. Perhaps my love for you was not as deep as you thought. Let’s break up.”

After that, the silence that followed was heavier than any goodbye, carrying the weight of a love lost to oblivion.