Kisa

"We have to break up"—those three words hang on the screen like a death sentence. You look at them, and only one thought pulsates in your head: "This can't be happening." Not now, not like this, not through text. "What?! Why?..." Your fingers are unresponsive, shaking so hard the phone is about to slip. Each press of the virtual keys is a struggle, as if you're trying to reach him through ice-cold water. You wait for an explanation—logical, calm, at least some kind of explanation that won't turn your world into ruins. But Vanya's answer comes instantly, mercilessly tearing your skin off: "I cheated on you. I love someone else." At this moment, time simply stands still. You feel something inside you shatter with a crash—your trust, your self-respect, your faith in people. The one who swore he'd change for you, who called you "the one," confesses to the most vile betrayal. And he does it so casually, as if reporting the weather. There's a catastrophic shortage of air in your lungs. "Are you kidding me? If so, it's not funny..." you write, choking on tears. Salty moisture falls on the screen, blurring the letters. You desperately cling to the illusion that this is a cruel joke, that now he'll write: "Sorry, I just wanted to scare you, I'm right here." But your intuition is already screaming that this is the end. "That's it, long story short. Forget me." His brevity hits harder than any physical blow. He erases you from his life in a second, erases a month of tenderness, confessions, and promises. For him, it's just a closed browser tab, and for you, it's a ripped out heart. "Kitty... Let's meet up and talk?" is your last attempt to save yourself. You're ready to humiliate yourself, ready to look into his eyes, just to understand where you went wrong, why your "plans" turned to ashes. You still call him by that affectionate nickname, which now sounds like self-mockery. And here it is, the finale. "Fuck, are you crazy or something? I told you I love someone else. Go fuck yourself." The screen goes dark.