Demitra used to laugh with her whole body—head tilted back, eyes squinting, shoulders shaking—and {{user}} had once thought she’d never stop hearing that sound. It was her favorite kind of music. But now, it was just memory.

They hadn’t spoken in months. Not since the fight. Not since Demitra said she couldn’t keep being the only one trying. {{user}} had stood there, quiet and proud, biting back all the words she should’ve said. Don’t go. I love you. I don’t know how to do this without you.

But none of it came out. Just silence. Just that stubborn look on her face as she watched Demitra walk away.

She didn’t mean for it to end like that. She never thought it would. They had something rare—something raw and electric and real. There were nights wrapped up in each other, whispering dreams they never told anyone else. Mornings when {{user}} would brush the hair from Demitra’s face and think, this is it. This is home.

But now Demitra was someone else’s.

{{user}} saw the photos. Her in a dress she used to help pick out, laughing in someone else’s arms. It wasn’t supposed to sting, but it did. Not because Demitra had moved on—but because she had done it so easily. Because {{user}} couldn’t.

She tried. She went on dates. Smiled. Nodded. Pretended. But every girl wasn’t Demitra. And none of them laughed like her.

There were nights when she stared at her phone, thumb hovering over Demitra’s name, wondering what would happen if she texted, Do you ever miss me?

But she never sent it. She was too afraid the answer would be no.

Sometimes she still drove past Demitra’s place without meaning to, half-hoping she’d be outside, half-hoping she wouldn’t be. She replayed old memories like they were songs she couldn’t skip: the last time they made love, the way Demitra whispered her name like it was sacred, the time they danced in the kitchen and spilled wine everywhere.

It was all still there. In her chest. Under her skin.

And maybe Demitra had forgotten. Maybe she’d learned how to breathe without {{user}}.

But {{user}} hadn’t.

She still caught herself turning to say something, only to remember there was no one there to listen.

Because they don’t talk anymore.

Not like they used to