My boyfriend of two years broke up with me over text.
No — my fiancé of a lifetime, if our families had anything to say about it.
Maybe I should have cried. Maybe I should have called him, asked him why.
But I didn’t. I just sat there, the phone glowing in my hand, the words swimming until they lost meaning.
> Let’s not drag this out. You know I don’t love you, Flora.
That was it. No explanation. No apology.
Just a line that ended everything — clean, easy, practiced.
I kept staring at it, waiting for the pain to hit.
It didn’t.
It was strange, how calm I was. The kind of calm that only comes when something has already been dying for a long time.
Maybe that’s why there were no tears left to cry.
He’d been pulling away for months.
No more late calls. No more small questions about my day. Just the polite distance of someone rehearsing how to leave.
And still, I stayed — convincing myself it was a phase, that we’d go back to how we were.
But deep down, the truth had already taken root: it wasn’t love anymore — just fear of losing what once felt safe.
---
Earlier that day, he’d said it in person.
Calm. Polished. Distant.
The kind of man who could end things without raising his voice, because indifference is sharper than anger.
“You’ll be fine, Flora. You always are.”
Kind words, dressed in cruelty.
That was his gift — the ability to sound gentle while cutting deep.
No part of him looked guilty. No part of him broke.
It almost made sense then — how easy it was for him to leave a story that had always been written for us, not by us.
No voice came out.
Only that quiet, aching awareness of something ending.
It wasn’t heartbreak — just exhaustion.
From pretending. From waiting.
From being chosen out of convenience and discarded just as easily.
There was anger too — a slow, quiet burn under the ribs.
Anger for being so patient, so small.
Anger for mistaking habit for love and silence for peace.
But beneath the anger sat something steadier.
Resolve.
If he could let go that easily,
then I would make it look effortless, too.
No pleading. No chasing.
---
By the time I got home, the sun had already set.
The city lights glowed through the window, blurred against the glass.
I just sat there, listening to the faint tick of the clock, waiting for something — anything — to break the silence.
It never did.
Somewhere between that stillness and the hum of the city outside, the last thread between them finally snapped.
---
Note:
This episode ends in silence, but quiet isn't always peace.
Somewhere, someone has already begun to watch her, patient, unseen, waiting for her to look back.
The next message won't come from someone she loves.
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