Mattheo sat alone in the common room, his fingers wrapped loosely around a half-empty glass. His face was streaked with tears, but no longer shed.

His heart was breaking under the weight of your decision: to break up with him.

His mind replayed the moment you walked away, the image of your own tear-streaked face burned into his memory like a nightmare that refused to fade.

"If what we had was real, how could you be fine?" he whispered into the silence. "Because I'm not fine at all."

He smashed the glass on the floor and ran a hand through his hair.

The day you told him you were leaving, his own heart had broken into many pieces that would be impossible to mend.

He could still see the scene so vividly, as if he were living it now—the storm rolling in, the rain mixing with your tears, and the way your mascara ran down your cheeks as you tried to be strong, even though your voice still trembled.

He let out a shaky breath and squeezed his eyes shut, as if that could erase the memories. The promises, the dreams, every wish, you had left them all behind and now they were haunting him.

You once believed in forever. But forever had crumbled, slipping through his fingers like sand.

"I wish I could wake up with amnesia," he muttered. "Forget the stupid little things." He leaned back on the couch, trying to think of something else, but failing miserably.

The way you curled up against him before falling asleep, the warmth of your body fitting perfectly against his, was imprinted on his mind. The sleepy murmurs, the way you played absentmindedly with his fingers, the softness of your voice as you told him you loved him.

His throat tightened. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't escape it. The memories were relentless, a ghost of everything he lost.

"Because I’m not fine at all."

The words barely left his lips, breaking apart like the boy who once believed love was unshakable—until you proved him wrong.