Atasha's POV;
I walked with a quiet nervousness in my chest, unsure of what I'd say when I saw him—but sure of one thing: I wanted to see him. But the moment my eyes landed on him, something inside me shattered again.
There he was—smiling in that same charming way, leaning a little too close, gently holding another girl's hand… and kissing it. My breath hitched. For a moment, I thought maybe she's just a friend. Maybe I was overthinking. But then—another girl. Another soft grin. Another smooth gesture.
I stopped in my tracks, my footsteps retreating before my heart could. A lump formed in my throat as memories came crashing in—how he used to look at me like I was the only girl in the world. And now, he was giving that look to everyone else too?
Was that smile ever really mine?
I turned around quickly, afraid my legs would give out if I stayed any longer. By the time I reached my room, my chest was burning. The ache wasn't sharp this time—it was dull, heavy, a constant reminder that I might've been just another stop in his long trail of sweet words and fleeting touches.
Was I foolish to believe he had changed?
Or was I the only one who meant it when I said I'd loved him endlessly?
The questions kept circling, tighter and tighter, until they drowned out the part of me that still hoped.
The next day, I didn't go looking for him. I didn't reply to his texts. I didn't block him this time—but I left him on read. If he could hand out the same affection he gave me to strangers, then he didn't deserve the weight of my silence anymore.
When I saw him again at the exhibit meeting, I didn't even pause. I walked past him like we were just two strangers who once shared a glance and nothing more. It hurt—it hurt like hell—but I refused to let that pain show again.
He called my name once, then again. "Sel—Atasha, wait—"
I turned halfway, offered the smallest smile, and said calmly, "I think you're busy with… others. No need to waste time on me."
The confusion on his face said everything.
He hadn't expected this.
He hadn't expected me to be strong enough to pull away this time.
And for the first time, I realized—maybe that's exactly what he needed to see.
Even as I walked away, each step felt heavier than the last. My body was moving forward, but my heart kept looking back, begging me to turn around—just once. To see if he was still watching. To see if there was regret in his eyes.
But I didn't. I wouldn't.
I told myself I deserved better. That love wasn't supposed to feel like a competition or a performance. It wasn't supposed to leave you second-guessing your worth or your place in someone's life. And yet, here I was—still loving him in silence, still bleeding inside while pretending it didn't touch me anymore.
I ignored his messages, no matter how sincere they sounded.
I needed him to feel the absence he had taken for granted.
I needed him to understand what it felt like to wonder if you ever truly mattered.
Still, every night when I lay alone with my thoughts, it crept back in—his laugh, the way he said my name, the gentleness in his voice when he apologized. But memories weren't enough anymore. Not when reality kept proving otherwise.
I wasn't sure if I was punishing him or protecting myself.
But I knew one thing for certain—
I couldn't let him break me again.