The last text Vihaan sent me said:
"Be right there. Just 10 mins."
That was eight days ago.
But let me rewind.
He had told me he was going on a short trip with "college friends." Somewhere out of town—hills, bonfire, barely any signal. He promised to update me whenever he could.
And for the first couple of days, he did.
A photo of foggy roads.
A sleepy selfie.
A "wish you were here" text.
I smiled. I missed him, sure—but I trusted him.
Until the updates stopped.
By Day Three, my texts turned from cute to anxious.
"Hey, all good?"
"Vihaan?"
"Call when you see this."
No reply.
Then, on Day Four—he posted a story.
Not of the scenery.
Not of a group.
Just a hand holding his.
Red nails. Silver ring. Familiar bracelet.
My stomach dropped before my brain caught up.
Because I knew that hand.
I knew that bracelet.
It was Myra's.
My best friend. My safe place. My sister by choice.
I stared at the screen, heart pounding in my ears.
There were no captions. No tags.
Just silence.
But it was louder than any confession.
I didn't message him.
Didn't message her.
Because what do you even say when your boyfriend disappears and reappears holding your best friend's hand?
I waited.
I waited for one of them to text.
To explain.
To deny.
They didn't.
Nothing. Not even a lie to soften the fall.
The thing about private relationships is—no one knows when your heart breaks.
You can look flawless on stories and feel like you're bleeding offline.
So I kept posting.
Tried to smile in reels.
Let the comments say "QUEEN" and "you and Vihaan are next level cute (🫶)" even though I wanted to scream.
The truth?
I wasn't heartbroken.
I was humiliated.
Because it wasn't just him.
It was her too.
And the both of them pretending I didn't exist.
I finally told Asmi. My real friend.
She blinked. Then whispered, "I never liked him."
I asked why she didn't say anything before.
She looked at me with soft, angry eyes."Because you loved him. And sometimes we let people be wrong when they're happy."
So I let myself break for one night.
Just one.
Then I wiped my face.
Tied my hair up.
And whispered to the mirror:"They lost me. Not the other way around."