We hadn’t seen each other in three months, yet not once did he ask how I was, how I’d been holding up while I was abroad.
In that moment, I realized: to him, I wasn’t even a person anymore. Just a character in his twisted little show with Laila as his co-star. A clown performing for them both.
I walked to the fridge, about to grab a drink, but froze. I’d barely noticed it before, Laila had already started taking over everything. The whiskey I’d bought was gone, replaced with the Korean soju she liked.
Frustration bubbled up in me, and I threw everything out of the fridge, her influence, her presence, all of it.
After my nightly routine, I crawled into bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. Instead, I opened the photo album on my phone.
I scrolled through picture after picture of James and me, our smiles, our memories. I zoomed in on a few, but I couldn’t help myself; I deleted every single one.
Going through them felt like rewinding to a time when everything felt perfect. The ache in my chest was raw. My eyes, dry as sandpaper, burned with the weight of everything.
I thought about it for a moment, then opened our chat and typed a message I never thought I’d send.
[Let’s take wedding photos tomorrow. I want to see what we look like, getting married.]
Maybe it was a part of me still holding on to the past, maybe a small sliver of hope that we could still work. But I needed to see it, to see us together, just once, in a version of reality that wasn’t falling apart.
He replied almost instantly, his enthusiasm in contrast to the numbness in me.
But the next day, when the time came, his message was anything but what I expected.
[Something came up at the office. I won’t make it today. I’ll need to make time for the wedding the day after tomorrow. You go first, and I’ll take my photos later, then combine them with yours.]
I didn’t even argue. I just read it and deleted the message.
I took a cab to the bridal shop, my heart feeling heavier with every passing block. When I walked in, the staff immediately gave me the once-over, her face creased in confusion.
“Miss, are you sure the wedding dress was made to your measurements? There’s quite a difference…”
“You should call your fiancé to confirm what he gave us for the order.”
I barely registered her words. My eyes were glued to a photo hanging in the center of the wall. James, the man I had loved for five years, holding Laila close, kissing her forehead, while the two of them looked so perfectly in sync against a backdrop of sea and sky.
The staff, eager to seal the deal, smiled brightly.
“Do you like this photography style? This gentleman hired the best photographer in the country for it. The bride is wearing the same dress you’ve got here. If you’re interested, we can give you the photographer’s contact.”
I didn’t even respond. I just shook my head and walked out.
Back home, I was in the middle of packing my bags to leave for abroad when I got another message from James.
[The shop asked when you’d come by. You didn’t go? What’s going on?]
[I told you I had something urgent at work. The appointment was set. Can you stop making a fuss about it?]
I took a deep breath, letting the anger build up. My fingers moved almost mechanically as I typed back.
[The wedding dress you booked wasn’t my size.]
A long silence followed. By the time I was closing my suitcase, he finally responded.
[The staff must’ve made a mistake. Forget about the photos today. I’ll have a new dress made for you after the wedding, and we can take photos then. The shop’s service is terrible. I’ve already blacklisted them.]
When he came home that evening, he brought a box of Korean fried chicken, his face lit up with a grin.
“I got this for you. It’s from that place with the long lines.”
I glanced at the box. My stomach churned.
“I can’t eat fried food, remember? You forgot.”
His grin faded, and the irritation on his face was obvious.
“Why are you bringing up Laila again? You can’t just let it go, can you? Eat it or don’t, I don’t care!”
I didn’t even reply. After slamming the door behind him as he stormed out, I called a locksmith and had the locks changed.
That night, no more messages came.
The next day, wedding day, I woke up, grabbed my suitcase, and rushed to the airport.
Before boarding, I sent him one last message. It was painful, like tearing a part of myself away, but I knew I had to do it.
[It’s over. Goodbye.]
Just as I was about to shut my phone off, his call came through.
