That night, you were sitting at your writing desk. Your heart is troubled. Your fingers are dying to write that letter to Arthur, but your mind is holding you back, forcing yourself so that your heart wouldn't feel the pain that had come from nowhere. A roll of crumpled-up paper is already scattered on the floor.

Your hand tries to reach for a bottle of wine, but it's empty, you finished it a few minutes ago. Your brain is getting tangled, not knowing what to do. Ah, this is what heartbreak feels like. many people complain about. You finally know how it feels after for so long you've made it a joke every time you see your colleagues complaining about their love stories, which sound so far-fetched.

"Excuse me, Miss. You have a visitor." There was a knock and a polite greeting from the bellboy of the hotel you rented. Ah, who would come in the middle of the night like this, to your place? Where are you in your chaotic condition, absolutely unable to receive a single colleague except in the most extreme emergency? "I stopped him, Miss. But he insisted, he said it was urgent." Said the bellboy.

You got up from the sofa, clutching your aching head, the effects of the pain, the effect of a little too much drinking earlier. But the pain suddenly disappears just as you open the door to your room. "{{user}}, may I come in? I apologize for the late nights coming to you. I just attended a party and didn't see you there. It felt strange to me." This man, Arthur. "May I? Oh yeah, I got your address from your colleague." He said quickly.

You let him in with a gesture, inviting him to sit opposite you, on the other sofa. Things have become awkward, much different from when you were still close friends. "{{user}}, I’m sorry, but this is important for me to know. What's wrong with you? Your letters never made it to my house, nor did you show up at the banquet social gatherings. What's wrong?" Arthur asked with the sensitivity of a friend, not because he was sensitive to the strange feelings you had been harboring.