The night was thick with a silence that pressed against Rose's chest like a physical weight. She lay sprawled across her bed, one arm thrown over her eyes, blocking out the dim glow of her phone screen. The game—the stupid game—had erased everything. All her progress, all her effort. The 100K she had clawed her way toward was gone. Just like that.
"I just lost my chance… was it even real?" Her breath hitched, tears burning behind her eyelids. "This is what I get."
A bitter laugh escaped her. I stayed with a girl last night, and now… this?. The universe had a sick sense of humor. She could still feel Carl's fingers tracing idle patterns on her skin, the way Rose had questioned everything in that moment—her, him, herself.
Now, all she felt was hollow.
Her phone buzzed. Mom.
Rose hesitated before answering, already bracing for the storm.
"You don't call me. You don't care… Do you even pray?" Her mother's voice was sharp, laced with disappointment.
Rose clenched her jaw. "I do, Ma. I care."
But the argument spiraled—sharp words flung back and forth until her mother hung up, leaving Rose in suffocating silence. She called back. Again. Again. No answer.
The phone slipped from her fingers as she collapsed onto her bed, staring at the ceiling.
I hate my life.
No—she hated herself.
For still loving him.
Daniel.
The name was a bruise she couldn't stop pressing.
He never called. She was always the one reaching out, carrying the weight of their dying connection. "I'm losing feelings… but I don't leave. Why?"
Maybe because she was obsessed with the memory of them—the way his laughter used to wrap around her like sunlight, the way he'd whisper promises against her skin.
"Maybe if we meet face-to-face again… it'll be better."
But it was just another lie she told herself.
Empty promises. "I'll see you."
When?
It had been months. Years, it felt like. And every day, the hope inside her withered a little more.
She grabbed her headphones, blasting music loud enough to drown out her thoughts—Bellyache. Contortionist. Nurse's Office. The bass thudded in her chest, syncing with the erratic rhythm of her heartbeat.
Rose didn't realize she had left her room until the cold night air hit her face. She walked, aimless, tears streaming down her cheeks as she laughed—hysterical, broken, like a madwoman.
"He didn't even remember."
Their anniversary.
She had been obsessed with reaching that one-year mark, clinging to the way Daniel used to talk about it—"When we hit a year, everything will be different."
So she had made an edit for him. Wrote a love letter that spilled her soul onto the page.
And the next day?
She waited.
And waited.
Nothing.
Until he finally texted—"You forgot, huh?"
"No," she had replied, voice trembling as she showed him the presents.
His response?
Thank you.
No gift. No words. Just… nothing.
The memory twisted inside her like a knife.
"He gave his best friend more importance than me."
Every conversation was about her. Every excuse was about her. Every time Rose tried to voice her pain, it was dismissed.
He's toxic.
He cheated on me.
He did.
I'm sure, he did.
And yet—
Her breath caught.
A sudden, sharp ache tore through her chest, so visceral she stumbled.
Somewhere, miles away, Ethan doubled over, gasping.
A voice—soft, urgent—whispered in his mind.
"She needs you… You feel her pain. Pick up your phone."
Fingers shaking, he typed:
"Are you alright? Please smile. I feel how you feel."
Rose's phone lit up. She stared at the message, tears blurring the words.
"How do I feel?" she replied.
"Just as hurt as me."
The music playing between them—I Warned Myself" by Charlie Puth—wrapped around the moment like a funeral shroud. The lyrics cut too deep. The beat pulsed like a dying heartbeat.
A lingering silence.
Then—
A vision tore through their minds like a lightning strike, violent and sudden.
Darkness. Not just the absence of light, but a suffocating void, thick as tar, pressing against her skin, filling her lungs. The air itself was heavy with the scent of damp earth and salt—like the ocean before a storm.
A cliff. Jagged rocks loomed below, their edges sharp as broken teeth. The wind howled, tearing at her clothes, her hair, as if trying to pull her forward. She stood at the edge, her bare feet scraping against crumbling stone. The drop was endless, a yawning mouth waiting to swallow her whole.
Her, falling.
One moment, she was there—arms outstretched, fingers grasping at nothing. The next, gravity seized her. The world tilted. Her stomach lurched as the ground vanished beneath her. The rush of air stole her scream, turning it into silence. She could see the sky above, the last glimpse of stars before the shadows swallowed her.
Him, running.
Ethan's silhouette burst through the trees, his breath ragged, his voice raw as he screamed her name. But the distance between them stretched impossibly wide, as if the universe itself conspired to keep them apart. His hand reached out—so close, yet too far. The terror in his eyes mirrored hers.
Too late.
Her body hit the water—or was it the rocks? The impact never came. Instead, she jolted back to reality, gasping, her fingers clawing at her chest as if to confirm she was still whole. The echo of the fall lingered in her bones, the phantom pain of a death that hadn't happened.
Yet.
The vision clung to her like a second skin, whispering one cruel truth:
This is how it ends.
Rose's breath hitched.
"What… was that?"
A single drop traced the curve of her cheek, catching the dim glow of the streetlamp before falling—shattering against the pavement like a silent confession. Then another. And another. Until her breath came in ragged hitches, her body trembling with the weight of everything unsaid.
Across the distance, unseen but felt, Ethan's own tears mirrored hers. His chest ached as though her sorrow had carved a hollow space inside him, filling it with saltwater and shattered glass. The night seemed to hold its breath around them, the air thick with the unspoken.
And then—
Their whispers tangled in the dark, two broken voices weaving together like the frayed edges of a promise:
"Love me."
The words hung between them, fragile as a spider's silk, trembling under the weight of all they couldn't fix. It wasn't a plea. It wasn't a demand. It was the last, desperate gasp of two souls drowning in the same storm, reaching for each other even as the waves dragged them under.
Somewhere, a car door slammed. A dog barked. The world kept turning.
But in that moment, there was only this—
The echo of a love that hurt too much to hold, and too much to let go.