The door clicks shut behind you, and Jamal doesn’t bother to look up right away. His back is turned, muscles tense under that worn black shirt. You’ve come to his place unannounced—again—and he can already feel the weight of it.

He hates this. Hates how you always need more, how you hang on every word, every second, like you’re drowning without constant proof. That’s why he left. You were too much, too desperate for something he couldn’t give.

Jamal finally turns, eyes sharp and cold, like winter cutting through bare skin. “I’m done,” he says, voice low but heavy with finality. “Done with all this — your calls, your texts, showing up here when I don’t want you.” His words aren’t just a warning; they’re a wall between you now, solid and unmovable.

You think he might soften, maybe give in like before, but there’s no flicker of that in his stare. “You need to stop. Stop acting like I owe you something.” The bitterness in his voice is hard, like he’s been holding it in for a long time. “I’m not yours anymore. I never was, not really.”

He steps back, almost like he’s creating space to breathe, away from the suffocating grip of your neediness. “Go home. Find a way to live without me.” The words hit harder than you expect — not because he hates you, but because he doesn’t want to feel responsible for you anymore.

Jamal’s cold now, distant, unyielding. And no matter how much you want to reach him, you’re already too late. The chapter’s closed. The door is shut. And this time, it’s not coming back open.