Chapter 1
:بسها
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On April Fool’s Day, the guy I’d secretly loved for years, my childhood best friend, confessed to me.
We spent the whole day together. At sunset, we held each other tight. We talked about everything we’d kept bottled up for years.
The next morning, as he got dressed, he looked at me and said, “Hey, it was April Fool’s yesterday. Don’t take it seriously.”
I didn’t say a word. Just got up, dressed, pulled out my phone, and sent him 100 dollars.
“Thanks for last night,” I said, then gave him a pointed glance below the belt and added, “Honestly? Your skills were … average.”
Ryan Watson’s face twisted like he’d just bitten into shit.
I picked up my bag and walked out of the hotel, didn’t even bother to look back.
Once I got into my car, his message popped up.
“Real classy. If you thought it was just ‘average,‘ then stop using last night to pressure my parents into agreeing to some marriage alliance.”
My fingers tapped out a reply, then I turned off my phone.
In the reflection of the black screen, I saw my tear–streaked face. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I collapsed over the steering wheel and sobbed my heart out.
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Chapter 1
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The soreness in my body was still there, a cruel reminder of how intense last night was. I cried when we did it too, thinking my years of unspoken love had finally paid off. It was tears of joy,
But waking up proved just one thing: I was a fool.
Ryan and I had grown up together–same schools, same everything. He always put me first, held my hand, and talked about our future like it was a sure thing.
Both of our families treated us like we were meant to be. Everyone expected we’d start planning the wedding after graduation. But here we are, years later, and we’re not even officially dating.
Every time I asked, he said he “wasn’t ready yet.” And I believed him. We were young. No rush. Let him have his fun first. So I waited. From 18 all the way to nearly 28.
Yesterday, I really thought he was done playing around. Turns out, he was. He was just done playing–with me.
Work kept me too busy to stay sad for long. By the time I looked up, it was already dark outside.
I’d cleared a whole day for him—rescheduled everything–just for that fake confession. And now? I’d have to pay it back, like every debt.
I stood up and stretched. Right then, my stomach growled loud enough to echo. That was when I realized I hadn’t eaten a single thing all day.
My body was already wrecked from last night’s exercise. Now I just felt drained–physically and emotionally.
My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. I picked it up and saw a message from my best friend–a forwarded screenshot from a group chat. The
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profile picture? Instantly recognizable. It was Ryan.
“Caressa’s not as wild as you all think. Honestly? Pretty average.”
So he was still hung up on what I said.
“But yeah, kinda slutty. Rich girl or club girl–can’t really tell the difference.”
Someone else in the chat asked if he minded sharing.
“Go for it. If you can pull it off, that’s the best. We’re not even together. Do whatever you want.”
My hands shook with rage as I texted my best friend back. Ryan was actual garbage. What was pathetic was that it took me years to see it.
I stared at the chat for a moment, then clicked in and dropped a link I’d just Googled–stamina pills.
“Since we’re friends, here’s a recommendation. Stock up, Mr. Watson. And maybe buy it without anyone noticing.”
Then I left the group. I pressed a hand to my stomach. It hurt like hell, but somehow I was laughing–an ugly, bitter laugh. I couldn’t tell if the pain was in my gut or my heart.
When it eased up a little, I just sat there, blank. For once, I didn’t know what to do.
Most days after work, I’d go find Ryan. He never really had time for me, but the push and pull of being near him–at least it was something.
Now it felt like the one thing holding me up had been pulled away. Emptiness filled the space where he used to be. I didn’t want to go home.
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After thinking for a moment, I decided to hit a bar. Get a drink. Or three. Heartbreak deserves a damn celebration.
Funny thing–this bar was the first place I brought him to when he came back from studying abroad.
I remember getting up on stage, drunk and shaky, and singing a song for him. Pouring my feelings into every note, thinking he’d get it. That he’d finally see how much I loved him. But he pretended not to.
Looking back, that should’ve been my wake–up call. But I held on to the memories. I let them lie to me for years.
Memories and alcohol? Dangerous mix. A few shots in, my vision started to blur.
“Hey, you okay?”
I forced myself to look up.
And just like that–I froze. One glance, and my brain short–circuited.
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