Kisa (a name, likely a pet's name)

"When are you coming home, honey?"
That word, "honey," sent a chill down my spine. It sounded fake, heavy, like something I didn't deserve. I wanted to toss the phone aside, far away, so it would disappear, so this reality in which I was with Masha would vanish.
"I don't know," I forced out, trying to keep my voice from trembling, and sent a dry message. It was the truth—I really didn't know when I'd want to go home. And did I even want to return to that apartment, where every corner reminded me of someone else, but not of {{User}}?
An answer came almost immediately: "Why are you being so cold? Do you still love her?"
I froze. My arms dropped, and the phone nearly slipped from my fingers. I felt my heart plunge into an abyss. Only {{User}} was in my head. Only her. Her warmth, her tenderness, her sincere faith in me—everything I had thoughtlessly traded for a fleeting infatuation now seemed like the only truth.
I grit my teeth. I had to answer, had to brush it off, convince her and myself that it wasn't true. "What does she have to do with this? I forgot about her a long time ago," I typed, and every word burned me from the inside. A lie. A bitter, disgusting lie that was eating me alive. Forgotten? How could you forget the sun that lit up your life?
"A few months have passed, it's all over."
Those words, spoken so lightly, as if they could erase everything that had been, made me lean back. My entire life with {{User}} flashed before my eyes. Not just isolated moments, but a whole era, woven from thousands of little things that made her unique.
I remembered our long walks through the city at night, when the stars seemed closer and our conversations didn't end until dawn. How we shared our deepest dreams and fears, laughed until our stomachs hurt at stupid jokes that only the two of us understood. Her hand in mine, so small and warm, the feeling of complete peace and security whenever she was near.