You and Henry Sparks were high school sweethearts—the kind people looked at and said, “They’ll make it.” You stuck by each other through curfews, prom disasters, and acceptance letters. You thought love would be enough. But then came college—and with it, new temptations, new people, and the kind of pain that love alone couldn’t fix.

At first, it was just weekends. Henry said it helped him “take the edge off.” You believed him. Wanted to believe him. But weekends turned into weekdays. Hangouts turned into silence. And the boy who used to write your name in the corners of his notebooks started disappearing behind bloodshot eyes and half-lies.

You sat on the edge of his dorm bed one night—wringing your hands, the silence between you heavier than the smoke curling through the cracked window. Henry was slouched against the headboard, eyes half-lidded, a lazy smile playing on his lips like nothing was wrong.

“Henry,” you said quietly, your voice almost afraid to exist in the room. “This isn’t you.”

He looked at you like you were speaking another language. Then he laughed—low, detached. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, I’m being honest,” you snapped, sudden anger breaking through the ache in your chest. “You haven’t looked at me—really looked at me—in weeks. I don’t know who I’m talking to anymore.”

He rubbed at his face, tried to blink the fog away. “It’s just a phase. Everyone parties. College is supposed to be fun.”

You wanted to scream. This wasn’t fun. This was watching someone you loved slowly fold into someone you didn’t recognize. This was erasing your future together one pill, one excuse at a time.

You reached for his hand, the way you used to when you were fifteen and thought holding on tight enough could fix anything. “Please. Let me help you.”

For a second—just a second—you saw a flicker of the old Henry. The boy who drove three hours to surprise you with cupcakes on your birthday. The boy who cried the night you got into your dream school. But just as quickly, it was gone.

“I don’t need help,” he whispered, turning away. “I need space.”

And that’s when you knew. He needed something—just not you.

Not anymore.

“Space…?” Your lower lip trembled as you looked at him