So how did we actually break up?

Because of a huge fight we had a year ago.

At that time, Jamie was becoming more and more occupied with work. I could barely remember the last time I woke up to one of his morning messages.

Queenie, are you awake?

Don’t forget breakfast.

Take a jacket today.

Those messages, once so ordinary, slowly disappeared.

Our phone calls became fewer too. Even when I called him, nine times out of ten, he was busy.

I became more and more uneasy.

Then one day, I came down with a terrible fever. Every bone in my body ached. My head was heavy, my throat burned, and even turning over in bed felt unbearable.

I messaged him.

One minute passed.

Then two.

Then ten.

No reply.

I sent another message.

An hour passed.

Still nothing.

After waiting for three hours, I finally called him.

He answered, but his voice was low and hurried.

“Queenie, I’m in a meeting. I’ll call you back afterwards.”

At that moment, all the fear and anger inside me exploded.

“Meetings, meetings, meetings,” I shouted into the phone. “I don’t believe you have so many freaking meetings that you don’t have any time for me. I’m dying here, and you don’t even care.”

After that, there was only silence.

A dead silence.

He did not speak.

I could only hear myself crying over the phone.

In the past, whenever I cried, no matter what had happened, Jamie would immediately apologise. He would coax me, comfort me, and try every possible way to make me happy again.

But this time, he said nothing.

Only that horrible silence lingered between us.

I hung up.

A few minutes later, I received a message from him.

Sorry, Queenie. I’m under a lot of pressure. Work is driving me crazy. You need to take care of yourself recently. Please don’t make me worry too.

I stared at the message for a long time.

Then I threw my phone under the bed and did not reply.

I was waiting.

Waiting for more apologies.

Waiting for regret.

Waiting for proof that he still cared.

If he truly cared about me, he would do something. Maybe he would take the next flight to Sydney. Maybe he would appear downstairs with medicine and porridge, looking exhausted but still saying, “Queenie, I’m here.”

I waited until the next day.

Then I sent him a timetable of flights from Melbourne to Sydney.

After a while, he called.

He told me he was really busy. He said he truly could not come at that moment.

I became furious.

“If you can’t come this time,” I said, “then don’t ever come.”

He seemed to want to explain, but I hung up before he could finish.

At that time, I was also busy. I was about to graduate, and my days were filled with essays, applications, and job interviews.

So I ignored him on purpose.

I did not reply to his messages.

At first, he still sent some.

Then slowly, he sent fewer.

Finally, there was almost nothing.

We entered a long silent war.

After my graduation ceremony, I could have gone to see him.

But I was still angry.

So when he asked, I told him I was busy looking for work and had no time for him.

That was not completely true.

I was waiting for him to apologise.

Waiting for him to tell me he still loved me.

Waiting for him to say he missed me.

If he had said even one sentence like that, I would have booked the next flight to Melbourne.

But he did not.

He only said, “That’s fine. I understand.”

At that moment, my heart froze.

His understanding felt colder than any argument.

So I decided to punish him.

During our silent war, I posted several photos of myself with other guys.

I wanted him to get jealous.

I wanted him to call me, angry and anxious, and ask me to explain.

I wanted him to prove that he still cared.

But nothing happened.

No call.

No question.

No anger.

No jealousy.

I kept waiting.

And waiting.

In the end, we broke up.

Even now, I keep thinking that if I had not been so stubborn, if I had not been so aggressive, if I had just called him first or taken that flight to Melbourne, maybe the wedding invitation I received today would have been ours.