The week crawled by.
Ethan's messages came sporadically — tired updates about work, quick notes about professors, the occasional joke to make her laugh. She read them all, replied when she could muster the energy, but her heart wasn't in it. Not really.
Every time her phone buzzed, she hoped for something more. A delayed "Happy Anniversary." A sheepish apology. Something.
But it never came.
And so the silence of what wasn't said became louder than the words that were.
Mina noticed, of course. Mina always noticed.
"You're quiet again," her friend said one afternoon as they lingered on the campus steps after class.
"I'm fine," Althea muttered automatically, hugging her books to her chest.
"Fine," Mina echoed dryly. "You've been saying that so much it's starting to sound like your last name."
Althea didn't reply. Couldn't. Because to answer honestly would mean unraveling right there in the sunlight, and she wasn't ready. Not yet.
But when Ethan finally asked to meet again — this time at the little park near the edge of town — her chest tightened with a mixture of dread and fragile hope.
Maybe, she thought. Maybe this time would be different.
The park was nearly empty when she arrived. The late afternoon sun painted everything gold, but to Althea, it felt muted, like a memory of warmth rather than the real thing.
Ethan was already there, leaning against a bench, phone in hand. He looked exhausted. His uniform shirt peeked out from under his jacket, the telltale sign he had come straight from work again.
Althea dug into her bag, a sudden jolt of realization hitting her. Her phone wasn't there.
She froze. How could she have forgotten it? The one thing she relied on every day, the one thing she'd usually never leave the house without, was missing. For a moment, she stood still, the weight of it making her feel even more disconnected.
Her heart sank. Even before Ethan spoke, she felt it: the weight of a storm neither of them could outrun.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," she answered softly, setting her bag down beside the bench.
For a moment, they just stood there, silence stretching, the air between them taut.
Then Ethan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, Thea, I know I've been… distracted. And I'm sorry. I really am. But—"
"But you forgot," she cut in, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it.
Ethan's brows furrowed. "Forgot what?"
Althea's chest tightened, the words spilling before she could hold them back. "Our anniversary, Ethan. Two years. You forgot."
His expression flickered — surprise, then guilt, then something harder. "Thea, I didn't forget. I just… things have been—"
"Busy?" she snapped, louder now. "Always busy. Always work, always shifts, always exams. Do you even realize what that day meant to me? What we meant?"
"Thea—"
"No." She cut him off, her eyes blazing. "I waited. I hoped. I thought maybe you'd show up with even a text, a flower, a word. But you didn't. You left me sitting there, wondering if I even mattered anymore."
His jaw tightened. "That's not fair."
"Not fair?" Her laugh was sharp, bitter. "What's not fair is me giving everything to this relationship while you can't even remember the day it started. What's not fair is me sitting alone, clinging to memories of roses and poems, while you bury yourself in a convenience store job like it matters more than us."
Ethan flinched. "You think I want to work all the time? You think I like missing things? I'm doing this so I don't drown, Thea. So I can pay rent. So I can actually survive."
Her anger cracked, but pride held her voice sharp. "And where does that leave me, Ethan? Waiting at the bottom of your list? Second place to instant noodles and broken coffee machines?"
His eyes darkened, hurt flashing across his face. "You're being selfish."
"Selfish?" Her chest burned. "For wanting to matter to my own boyfriend? For wanting to be remembered, to be chosen?"
"Yes!" His voice rose, startling her. "You act like the world should stop for you just because it's a special date. You don't see how hard I'm fighting to keep everything from falling apart. I can't give you roses and poems anymore, Thea. I can barely give myself a break!"
Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "Then what are we even doing? Because if this is love, Ethan, it feels a hell of a lot like being forgotten."
His chest heaved, his hands clenched at his sides. And then, in a voice low and raw, he said the words that shattered her.
"Maybe you should be with someone who has the time. Someone who can give you all those little fairytales you want. Because I can't. Not anymore."
The silence after was deafening.
Althea stared at him, her world tilting. "You're… breaking up with me?"
Ethan's throat bobbed. His eyes glistened with something between fury and grief. "I don't see another way."
Her heart cracked open, the pain spilling out in words she didn't mean but couldn't stop. "Fine. Maybe I should find someone else. Someone who doesn't forget me. Someone who doesn't treat me like a burden."
Ethan flinched again, but he didn't back down. "Maybe you should."
The finality in his tone made her breath hitch. She felt the ground fall away beneath her, but she held her chin high, even as her vision blurred.
"Just go," she whispered, her voice breaking. "If I'm so selfish, if I'm so impossible, then leave."
He looked at her one last time, his face unreadable. And then he turned, walking away.
Althea's chest seized. She waited for him to look back, to hesitate, to do something that would prove he didn't mean it.
But he didn't.
He kept walking.
Her legs moved before her mind caught up. "Ethan!" she cried, stumbling forward. "Wait! Please—"
She reached into her pocket to call him, but she remembered she forgot her phone, and now she couldn't even reach him.
Her heart pounded as she chased him, her voice cracking on his name. "Ethan!"
She didn't notice the road. Didn't notice the blinding headlights cutting through the dusk.
All she saw was him.
All she heard was the desperate echo of her own voice, clawing at the air between them.
"Ethan!"
A screech split the silence. Tires against asphalt. A sharp gasp stuck in her throat.
And then—
Darkness.