Nine years.
Nine years since I left without a word.
Nine years since I thought silence would be easier than confrontation. Nine years since I thought pride could fix everything.
Now, I sat slouched on the edge of my bed in my London apartment, staring at the ceiling. The room smelled faintly of stale coffee and the bitterness of sleeping pills. My routine had become a joke I hated: pop a tablet, lie in bed, try to force my mind to stop spinning, and fail. Night after night. Week after week. Months that had stretched into years.
I rubbed my temples, feeling the tight knot of exhaustion in my chest. My hands were shaky. My pulse hammered in my ears. The tablets helped me sleep,
yes—but never for long enough to quiet the storm in my head. I hated myself for depending on them. I hated that they had become the only way I could survive the nights.
Then my phone buzzed. A notification. I barely glanced at it, too tired to care.
Almost ignored it.
Almost.
"Mariano Corporation Announces Strategic Merger with Aira Healthcare. Engagement Confirmed: CEO Jay Mariano & Ren Aira."
I froze.
Engaged.
Jay.
The girl I had left behind—the one I had hurt, the one I had abandoned—was engaged. And not to just anyone. To Ren. Calm, composed, untouchable Ren. The kind of man whose presence demanded respect without effort. Whose family had run Thailand's top medical empire for decades, quietly powerful, admired, feared. Stability, control, quiet authority—everything I had never been able to give her.
My fingers trembled around the phone. I pressed it to my chest, trying to steady myself. My stomach twisted. My head spun. Pills, exhaustion, stress—they all blurred together—but none of it mattered.
I wanted to tell myself it was only business. A merger. A strategic alliance. Nothing more. That Jay's smile in the photo didn't mean she had moved on. That Ren wasn't standing so close that my chest felt like it might cave in.
But my mind didn't believe it. My heart didn't believe it.
Had she moved on? Did she even forgive me? Or had she just chosen what was safest—the life I never gave her?
I swallowed hard and pressed my forehead into my hands. My breaths were shallow. Sleep pills or no, I had not slept. My body ached. My chest ached. My heart—God, my heart—ached.
Nine years. Nine years of distance, silence, and regret. And now, in one headline, the truth I had avoided hit me like a train. She didn't wait. She had moved on—or maybe she hadn't, and I didn't dare hope.
I felt panic rise, sharp and sudden, as if my body knew the storm to come. My mind raced. My hands shook uncontrollably. I had thought I could outrun this, outrun her. But I couldn't.
Not anymore.
Because in that single, unbearable moment, I realized:
I wasn't ready to let her go.
I wasn't ready to face the fact that she had chosen someone else—or at least, a life without me.
I had thought pills could numb me. Sleep could save me. Time could heal me.
I had been wrong.
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