The day Samin Karahan left to study abroad, everyone celebrated him like he was destined for bigger things. His house was full of proud relatives, sweets, and endless congratulations. You smiled with everyone else, standing quietly in the corner.

But that night, buried under your blanket with your face pressed into the pillow, you cried until your chest hurt.

Not because he was leaving.

Because you were terrified he would forget you.

Your families had always been close. Since childhood, you had grown up beside him naturally, like he was stitched into every memory of your life. He was a few years older—calmer, smarter, the kind of boy adults admired instantly.

When you were little, he waited outside your classroom if your parents were late. He carried your bag when it looked heavy, brought extra lunch so you could eat together because you often forgot lunch at home, and always made sure you got home safely.

To him, it was simple care. To you, it became everything.

Your friends noticed your crush long before you admitted it. They teased you constantly, telling you to confess.

So you did.

And he rejected you.

Gently. Kindly. Like he felt bad hurting you, but couldn’t return your feelings.

Still, you kept trying over the years, foolishly hoping one day he would look at you differently.

He never did.

Then he moved abroad.

At first, he texted often—pictures of snowy streets, complaints about assignments, reminders for you to study harder. But slowly the replies became shorter. Hours turned into days. Days into weeks.

Eventually, the conversations disappeared completely.

You watched his life through social media instead. New friends. Better clothes. A brighter future. Girls who looked elegant and confident beside him.

Girls who matched him.

Meanwhile, you stayed the same.

Bad grades. No direction. Nothing special.

Every holiday when he came back home, he felt more distant. His hugs became shorter, his smiles distracted. You hated noticing it, but you noticed everything.

Still, you waited for him every summer like your heart had learned nothing.

This summer, his mother asked you to help decorate the house before he arrived. You spent the afternoon hanging lights and ribbons while everyone talked excitedly about him coming home.

Then the front door opened.

“He’s here!”

You turned too quickly, nearly stumbling.

And there he was.

Samin Karahan looked older now. More handsome. More polished. Like the world outside had shaped him into someone even further out of your reach.

He hugged his parents while everyone crowded around him happily.

Then he stepped aside.

A girl walked in behind him.

The room went silent for a moment.

She was beautiful in the effortless way that made people stare. Elegant posture, soft smile, expensive-looking clothes—she looked like she belonged perfectly beside him.

You suddenly became painfully aware of yourself.

Samin smiled casually.

“This is my girlfriend, Jasmine,” he said. “She’ll be staying with us during the summer.”

The room exploded with excitement.

Compliments. Admiration. Endless attention toward her.

“They look perfect together,” someone whispered.

And you stood there quietly, fingers clutching your dress so tightly the fabric wrinkled in your hands.

Nobody noticed.

Nobody saw the exact moment your heart finally broke.

Not during his rejections.

Not when he moved abroad.

Not when the texts stopped.

It happened here, in a crowded roommate full of happy people, while the boy you had loved your entire life stood beside someone who matched him perfectly.

Then Jasmine laughed softly and reached for his arm.

“Sami,” she said sweetly, looking up at him.

The nickname hit harder than it should have.

Because that was your name for him.

The name you had called him since childhood. The name that once belonged only to your memories of him.