I didn't know it back then, but that was the last time she would laugh with me.
It wasn't a dramatic exit. No slammed doors. No screaming. No long, teary conversations you see in films. Just a slow fade— like sunlight slipping beneath the horizon, and you don't realize it's night until you're already standing in the dark.
She was never really mine. Not in the way stories say love should be. We never had labels. We never had promises. But we had moments— quiet, fragile moments— and I mistook those for permanence.
And me? I cared— God, I cared. In ways I never thought I could. I showed up, even when she didn't ask. I stayed, even when she pushed. And maybe that was the beginning of the end. Maybe I gave too much of myself to someone who was never ready to receive it.
There was no warning.
Just a shift in the wind— her replies slower, her smile more distant, like she was there, but already somewhere else. I kept pretending. Pretending I didn't notice. Pretending I wasn't breaking. Pretending people don't leave even when you give them everything.
But they do.
And she did.
Now I'm left with echoes—of shared songs, late-night talks, and unfinished conversations. I scroll through memories like reruns of a show I once loved, knowing the ending doesn't change.
I never got a real goodbye. Not even a real reason. Just… silence. The kind that screams in your head when you're trying to fall asleep.
And that's where it all began—
Not with a spark, not with a kiss, but in that space no one talks about.
Somewhere between hello and goodbye.