It was the last week of August. A week had passed since the fight, and neither of us had messaged the other. I didn't text him, and he didn't text me. Somehow, during that time, Deina and Chris had become friends. I'm still not sure how they found each other on that platform—maybe through mutual comments or search—but they started talking on the phone too.
Now, you're probably expecting a betrayal, right? That Deina would be the one he cheated on me with? But no, the betrayal came from another angle. Still, I never saw Deina as a threat. Maybe I was naive. I always believed she was harmless, and the conversations between her and Chris seemed normal to me.
Chris had told me some harsh things during our fight, accusing me of talking to other men. The truth is, those messages didn't mean anything romantic—just casual words, with no flirtation. But the trust was broken. I was the one who cracked first. I messaged him: "I miss you."
How long was I supposed to miss you, Chris? Maybe twenty years?
You'll never know.
People love, forget, move on. But somewhere deep inside, a scar always stays. My love, did you feel the same pain in the days without me? Did you miss me like I missed you? Did you ever wake up from a dream with my face in your memory and a quiet sadness in your chest?
You never answered those questions.
You disappeared from my social media. Your number, the one I still remember by heart, was unreachable. Were you running from me… or from your past?
I was beginning to see a different side of you, Chris. One not so innocent.
After I sent "I miss you," you replied briefly: "What are you doing?" Cold.
"I'm working," I replied.
"So am I. I'm busy," you said.
Then I suggested a weekend trip to a beach in a nearby town. "Let's go there," I said, "with your red car."
You agreed.
For a moment, I felt relief. Maybe we could repair things. That's how young love works—fights, separation, then reunions. The weekend was approaching. The reunion was near.