"So you're leaving me alone again?" Ruben's voice cracked through the quiet like thunder before a storm. "You know what? I kinda feel like a poor single man sometimes."
I stood still by the door, my hand on the handle, heart somewhere between guilt and longing. He stared at me with that look again—that same look I'd seen too many times lately. A blend of resentment, exhaustion, and something deeper: the slow crumbling of faith. I used to find warmth in his eyes. Now, more often than not, I found winter.
"I'm sorry, honey. But I need to see Alya tonight." My voice was barely a whisper. Even I could hear the desperation beneath it. A soft plead. An aching pull.
Work had kept me from her for days—endless meetings, reports, tasks that swallowed my time and soul. I had no space left, not even for myself, let alone Ruben. We saw each other daily, shared the same bed on nights he stayed over. But time with him had become mechanical, like brushing teeth or making coffee—necessary, routine, but never intimate.
We stopped laughing. Stopped talking just to talk. Even dinner felt like a negotiation of tired limbs and heavy silences.
And yet now, when I finally had a sliver of time for myself, I wasn't spending it with him. I was running—running into Alya's arms, into the danger I had chosen with eyes wide open. The need to see her burned through me. A madness, maybe. Or a love I never dared to name before.
"What is so special about her?" Ruben asked, his voice laced with restraint. "Why do you always choose her over me? I get it. She's your best friend. You haven't seen her in years. She's lonely here—like you were, once."
He tried. God, he tried. To understand. To stay calm.
"But I need you too, Gadis," he said, his voice trembling now, emotions pooling behind every word. "You've drifted so far I can't even reach you anymore."
I looked at him, and for a second, I saw it—the depth of his love, the ache of being left behind. And still… I couldn't stay. My heart wasn't here. My body was, but my soul had long since wandered elsewhere.
"I just… I have to go."
He didn't speak. Didn't argue. Something in him shifted. I could see it—something breaking in his eyes, slow and final. His silence was louder than any plea.
Then he said it.
"You can go now," he muttered, swallowing hard. "But if you walk away from me tonight…" He took a breath, long and jagged. "This will be the end of us."
I froze. Those words—the end of us—they had never surfaced before. Not even in our worst fights. Not even when everything felt like it was crumbling. We'd always come back, found some way to mend the rips.
But now?
He was tired. Tired of trying. Tired of waiting. Tired of pretending.
I stared at him, eyes blurred with disbelief. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.
Two years. Thousands of hours. Memories. Laughter. Healing.
How could it all collapse so easily?
Between the love I had for Ruben and the longing I felt for Alya, I didn't know which mattered more anymore. My heart and mind argued in circles, neither winning.
But someone once told me: when your heart and mind don't align, follow your heart.
Maybe that was foolish advice. Maybe this choice would ruin me. But I turned the handle. Stepped out. Walked away.
I left the man who had held my hand through grief. The one who waited for me when I was lost. The one who helped me breathe when the world suffocated me.
I left him—just like that.
And as I walked, my steps heavy with guilt, I knew his pain would run deeper than mine. I was the betrayer. I was the one who turned away. Whatever I felt now—this ache, this confusion—was nothing compared to what he must feel watching me go.
Yet my feet didn't stop. Even as my heart screamed. Even as the memories clawed at my back. I kept walking.
But strangely… I didn't walk toward Alya.
My steps wandered on their own, taking me somewhere unexpected.
And then I was standing in front of an old bar. A quiet place I used to escape to before Ruben, before Alya returned, before everything became complicated. A place that had known my loneliness without judgment.
The bell above the door chimed as I entered, the sound oddly comforting. A barista behind the counter greeted me with a polite smile. I ordered something light—some snacks, a drink I barely tasted.
People came and went. Couples chatted, hands intertwined. Strangers sat across from each other, lost in their phones, their lives. There was a distance in their togetherness. It mirrored something in me.
I sat in a dimly lit corner, alone, my thoughts louder than the soft music playing overhead.
Look at the stars
Look how they shine for you
And everything you do
Yeah, they were all yellow…
Coldplay played from the speakers, each lyric a knife tracing memories on my skin. Ruben and I used to listen to this song in the early days. Back when love was easy. Back when I believed I could grow old with him.
I chose my heart tonight. I followed it.
And yet… it still bled.
I couldn't bring myself to go to Alya. Not like this. Not when the echo of Ruben's final words still rang in my ears. Not when I could still feel the warmth of his hand slipping from mine.
I didn't deserve her. Not now.
I wasn't ready to pretend joy after breaking someone who had only ever loved me.
So I sat in silence. Let the music carry me. Let the guilt settle.
I just wanted to be alone for a while. To breathe. To make peace with myself before I stepped into another's light. I wanted, if only for a moment, to forgive myself.
Because choosing the heart doesn't always feel right.
And sometimes, even love hurts more than it heals.