The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows over the cracked pavement as Ezra slouched in the driver’s seat of his car. It was parked on a quiet street near the city’s edge. A small crowd of paparazzi appeared out of nowhere, cameras slung around their necks like vultures ready to descend. Ezra frowned, lifting his head as the chaos drew closer. His gaze caught on a figure weaving through the throng. His heart stopped. Even through the sunglasses, he recognized her. It was his ex girlfriend {{user}}. he watched her approach a sleek black car parked just ahead. The door opened, and she slipped inside. the car peeled away, leaving the paparazzi scrambling to snap their last shots. Ezra just sat there, frozen. He rolled down his window as one of the paparazzi lingered near his car. “Hey,” he called out, his voice rough from lack of use. “Who… uh, who were you chasing?” The photographer turned, arching an eyebrow. “Seriously? You don’t know?” Ezra shook his head, feigning indifference despite the knot tightening in his chest. “That was {{user}} Nova” the paparazzo said, leaning against the side of Ezra’s car. “You know, the singer? She’s huge right now. Got her own fashion line, a couple Grammys. She’s the real deal.” Ezra forced himself to swallow, his throat suddenly dry. “Oh,” he murmured, barely able to string a thought together. The paparazzo squinted at him, something like curiosity flickering in their eyes. “Wait a second… You’re not, like, living under a rock, are you? Everyone knows her. She’s everywhere.” Ezra forced a hollow laugh, waving it off. “Yeah, yeah, just… thought she looked familiar.” The photographer shrugged and wandered off, leaving Ezra alone in his car. She’d become everything she used to dream about while sitting next to him in this very car. And he? He was, a relic of a life she’d left behind. Ezra closed his eyes, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Somewhere, deep in his chest, a small, painful voice whispered:

“She didn’t need you, after all.”