Chapter 2: Packed and Gone

He took less than ten minutes to pack his things.

It was as if he already knew exactly what to take and what to leave behind.

Just like our relationship.

The cracks had appeared long ago.

But because of that promise, he kept up the act, playing the perfect boyfriend until the very end.

But what the body can do,

the heart can’t.

When he unlocked his phone, the corners of his mouth would unconsciously curl up in a smile.

When buying tampons with me, he’d instinctively recommend another brand, claiming it was less likely to leak.

He even started learning to cook.

But not a single dish he made was something I liked.

I watched him, watched as his love for me,

bit by bit, faded from this relationship.

In the end, when he even forgot my mom’s memorial day,

I said we should break up.

And he,

agreed without hesitation.

So quickly,

it almost felt unreal.

I remember standing by the doorway, watching him move through the apartment—his movements efficient, almost rehearsed. He grabbed his old college sweatshirt, the one he never let me borrow, and the charger he always complained about missing. The silence between us was thick, punctuated only by the soft thud of drawers closing and the faint hum of the city through the window. It struck me that we’d been living like roommates for months—two people inhabiting the same space but orbiting separate worlds. Even the way he zipped up his duffel bag sounded like a final period at the end of a too-long sentence.