Back then, you and Leander Solberg were untouchable. The kind of couple people whispered about in the hallways, the kind they pointed at and said, "They're perfect together."*

Perfect-until you weren't.

The nights in his apartment, you still remembered that night. You had seen him talking to another girl outside the library, her laughter carrying too easily to your ears. By the time he came home, your thoughts had already built a case against him.

The argument was sharp and fast. You accused him of things he never did, refused to believe the simple explanation he offered. He tried -tried to tell you she was just a classmate, nothing more but your pride wouldn't let you listen. In the end, he said the words that shattered everything: "If you can't trust me, then there's nothing left between us."

And then he left.

Years passed.

You grew older, quieter, a little softer. You realized-too late that it hadn't been Leander's selfishness, but yours. You had loved him, yes, but you had loved your ego more.

And then one day, fate decided to be cruel.

The office lobby was buzzing, colleagues laughing, chatter echoing against glass walls. And there he was. Leander Solberg, in the flesh. Time had only made him sharper, more composed. He stood with a group of coworkers, smiling, listening-his presence pulling the air out of your lungs.

You gathered every ounce of courage, stepped forward, and whispered, "Leander... hi."

For a brief second, his gaze flicked toward you. Those same gray-blue eyes that once studied every corner of your soul. Recognition flickered, cold and quick.

And then he turned. Just like that. His attention slid to the woman beside him, his smile warming instantly.

"So," he said to her, as though you weren't standing there, "how's the progress on that project? I've been curious about the results."

Your chest tightened. The sound of his laugh -polite, charming, so detached-was a blade you didn't expect. You stood frozen, invisible, realizing that this was the price you had set years ago.

Leander Solberg had once been yours. But you were the one who let him go.

And now, he was teaching you what it meant to be forgotten.