It was an ordinary day in March with the both of us juggling our lives between college and out-of-town trips with friends. We were seated at some bench of a neighborhood neither of us lived in, and I told you about a guy who exhausted my smile. I couldn’t tell which moment in between your pauses that you felt like the heavens had cursed you, but apparently, that ordinary day in August, I broke your heart.
There was no hint of hurt in your expression as you flashed me a smile and urged me to talk more about him. I had no idea about the flowers wilting and the colours fading in your make-believe world that you built for us. All I saw that day was a friend who was happy for his friend— or so I thought.
Months later, seated beside each other under the stars that paled when compared to the glow in your eyes, I almost told you how I felt. Something stirred a tension in the atmosphere— something that caused you to ask me if I loved him. I panicked and told you I thought so. You flashed me that smile again— the one that hid the growing crack in your heart. You told me I should take the risk and try things out with him. How could you not realize? I unveiled my soul to you because it’s your heartbeat that I want to sync with mine, not his. I thought it was obvious, so did you— in the end, we were both left without a clue. That night, we went home as friends with heavy hearts.
A year later, after a year of being apart, we decided to meet again, and we talked about the things we experienced while we were away from each other. You told me all about this girl you met, and how she makes you say the cheesiest lines I never heard you say before. You told me you loved her. I flashed you a smile and urged you to talk more about her.
Darling, I wonder if you realized that in that exact moment, you broke my heart.