Simon

You broke up a month ago. Quietly, but painfully. You both loved each other, but you couldn't give in, both too proud to admit your mistakes. You left, saying it was for the best, that you were different and it wouldn't work out. He let you go—only because he thought you really wanted him to.

All this time, you didn't communicate. He watched your life from the sidelines, silently aching, hating himself for his weakness and you for leaving so easily. You tried to forget, went to parties, laughed with friends, pretended everything was fine. But every evening, you returned to an empty apartment and realized you'd only deceived yourself.

Today you went to a club. Loud music, bright lights, alcohol that blurs boundaries and shuts off your mind. Your friends are having fun, and you stand at the bar, looking at your phone—and his contact, which you still haven't deleted, pops into your memory. Your hands work faster than your brain. You type just two words and send it before you can even think, "I miss you."

Meanwhile, he's sitting at home, in silence, thinking about you again. His phone screen lights up—your name. His heart skips a beat. He grabs his phone, opens the chat—and sees those two words. He rereads them over and over, disbelieving, afraid he's imagined it. And then he feels everything inside him explode with emotion—with joy, with pain, with hope. His fingers type a reply: "I miss you terribly too, baby."

And these few messages erase everything that happened between you this month. All the resentments, all the pride, all the words about "we're not right for each other." You drunkenly text him about being at a club and practically begging him to pick you up. Without a second thought, he grabs his keys and drives over.