Chapter 4: The Things We’ll Miss

Maybe it’s because the end of the semester is here, and two job offers from different cities finally made us give up.

We’d both tried to find something close, but the offers came from opposite sides of the state. It felt like fate was pulling us apart, no matter how hard we fought.

Breakups don’t always have a reason. Life is just hard.

It’s never just one thing. It’s a thousand little things. Piling up until you can’t see over them anymore.

We used to think love could conquer anything, that we’d stick together no matter what.

We’d promised each other forever, sworn we’d make it work. But promises don’t pay rent or buy groceries, and forever starts to feel like a fairy tale when reality sets in.

But sometimes, even when nobody does anything wrong, the story still ends.

No villains. No betrayals. Just two people who loved each other and couldn’t find a way forward. It was the saddest kind of ending.

If I had to say I was wrong, maybe it’s that I shouldn’t have fallen for her in the first place. There are so many people in the world—why did I have to fall in love with her?

I wondered if things would’ve been easier if we’d never met, never fallen so hard. But even through the pain, I knew I wouldn’t trade our time together for anything.

I hugged her weakly, but she broke free, sobbing.

I reached for her, but she slipped away, curling up on the far side of the bed. The distance between us felt like miles.

I tried again, and she slipped away again.

Every time I reached out, she pulled back. Her sobs growing louder. I didn’t know whether to keep trying or give her space.

The third time I tried, she cried, “Don’t touch me. I look so ugly when I cry.”

Her voice was small, ashamed. She hid her face in the pillow. Shoulders shaking.

I kissed her forehead and whispered, “But if I don’t hold you now, I’ll never get to hold you again.”

I brushed her hair back, pressing my lips to her skin. I wanted her to know she was beautiful, even when she cried.

She stopped fighting and let me hold her.

She melted into my arms, her body relaxing against mine. I stroked her back, feeling the tension slowly drain away.

She buried her face in my chest, wiping away her tears, gasping for air.

Her breaths came in hiccups. Her hands clutching my shirt. I rocked her gently, whispering soothing words I hoped would help.

“I really wanted to walk a little farther in life with you. I wanted to see you shine, see you chase your dreams.”

Her voice was muffled against my chest. But I heard every word. She sounded so young, so full of hope and regret.

“I’ve told myself so many times, no matter what happens, I’ll always be by your side.”

I remembered the promises we’d made, late-night talks about the future, dreams we’d spun together. It all felt so fragile now.

“I’ve imagined you winning, imagined you losing, but what hurts most is knowing I won’t even get to be there.”

She sniffled, and I felt her tears soak through my shirt. I wanted to promise her I’d always be around, but I knew it would be a lie.

I listened to her cry, but didn’t say a word.

Sometimes, silence is the only answer. I held her tighter, letting her grief wash over me, trying to absorb some of her pain.

I’ve told her about my dreams so many times.

She knew them all by heart—the grad school applications, the hope of starting my own business, the silly dream of opening a record store someday.

Maybe it was when we walked together, hand in hand, me searching for the right words, her listening so carefully.

She always listened, even when I rambled. Even when I doubted myself. She’d squeeze my hand, her eyes shining with pride.

Maybe it was when we watched TV, something about my field came up, and I paused to explain. She’d look at me, wide-eyed, and talk about it with me.

She never pretended to understand when she didn’t. But she always tried. Asking questions, wanting to know more. It made me feel seen, understood in a way no one else had ever managed.

So many times, she looked at me with admiration, saying I was so smart.

Her praise embarrassed me. But I secretly loved it. She made me feel like I could do anything, like I was someone worth loving.

I loved it, but I always pretended not to care, hiding my smile because I was embarrassed.

I’d roll my eyes, tell her she was exaggerating. But inside, I glowed. I wanted to be the person she saw when she looked at me.

I never told her how much her praise meant to me.

I wish I’d said it more, let her know how much she mattered, how much her words lifted me up on my worst days.

Every kind word from her felt like a warm spring breeze, making me thankful fate brought us together.

She’d changed my life in ways I couldn’t explain. Made me believe in myself, in love, in the possibility of happiness.

It was like being a kid again—wanting her praise, her love, her affection, but pretending to be cool.

I’d try to act tough, brush off her compliments. But inside, I was just a boy hoping to be loved.

I held her tight, wanting to say, “Then let’s not break up.”

The words hovered on my lips. Heavy and desperate. I wanted to beg her to stay, to promise we’d find a way.

But I couldn’t.

I bit my tongue, knowing that empty promises would only make it harder. I couldn’t ask her to wait, to put her life on hold for me.

Empty promises—I just couldn’t do it.

I didn’t want to be the guy who made promises he couldn’t keep. She deserved better than that.

Maybe couples split because they make too many promises they can’t keep, and the cracks keep growing.