đ«Lydia's POV
He left.
Just like that.
No goodbye.
No text.
Not even a call.
She heard it from her aunt, dropped carelessly into a teacup conversation like it was just another minor update.
"Max flew to London last night. His father got him into some elite business program."
And just like that, her world stilled.
She blinked once. Twice. Her hands clenched in her lap.
Her mother didn't even notice.
But inside her chest, something shattered âand no one heard the sound.
That night, Lydia didn't sleep.
She didn't cry, either.
She just lay there in the dark, wide awake, eyes fixed to the ceiling, her heart pressing painfully against her ribs like it was trying to claw its way out.
Max was gone.
Without telling her.
Without waiting.
He said he wouldn't forget me, she thought bitterly.
But he didn't even say goodbye.
And worse than thatâ
She never got to tell him.
She waited too long.
She curled into herself, her pillow clutched tightly, face buried deep like she could suffocate the memory if she just held on tight enough.
But she couldn't.
The memory came anyway.
âĄïž[FLASHBACKâAge 15]
She had gotten her 9th grade result that day.
It wasn't bad.
In fact, it was good-better than most.
But it wasn't what she expected.
She had worked harder. Aimed higher. Dreamed bigger.
When she saw the marks, her stomach dropped.
Disappointment. Shame.
Not because she failed.
But because she believed she should've done more.
Everyone told her she did well, but their words felt like empty paper wrappers.
She shut herself in her room.
Frustrated. Quiet. Angry with herself.
She didn't want pity.
Didn't want fake comfort.
But when the door creaked open, it wasn't her mother.
It was him.
Max.
He didn't say anything at first. Just stepped in and sat down on the edge of her bed.
The scent of his cologne filled the room-mint and musk and warmth-and she hated how instantly her shoulders loosened.
"I heard," he said softly.
She didn't answer. She didn't even look at him.
"You did really well," he said, reaching out, placing a hand gently on her back.
She stiffened.
"I should've gotten more," she muttered, her voice hollow, shaky. "I wanted to top."
Max leaned in, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with careful fingers.
"Lydia..."
"You're brilliant. Don't let numbers ruin that."
She bit her lip. Swallowed hard.
"Everyone thinks I'm overreacting," she whispered. "But it mattered to me."
He didn't laugh.
He didn't tell her to get over it.
Instead, he reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers like he'd done it a thousand times before.
"You matter to me."
Her breath caught.
She turned her head slowly to face him.
His eyes weren't teasing. Weren't pitying.
They were serious.
And full of something soft.
Something she didn't know how to name at the time.
love.
Something she now recognized-too late-as
| "Can I lie here?" she asked, quietly.
He nodded without a word.
She shifted, laying down beside him, her face near his chest, heart pounding like thunder beneath her skin.
He pulled the blanket over both of them. His fingers brushed her waist as he moved closer.
Their legs touched. His breath was warm against her forehead.
She closed her eyes.
And made a wish.
Let this be forever.
She imagined his lips brushing hers gently in the dark.
His hands sliding around her body, protective and possessive.
Their first night as husband and wife-sharing a bed not out of comfort, but out of belonging.
Even then, at just fourteen, she knew it.
I want to marry max.
Not for the fairytale.
Not for the ring.
But because he was her home.
đ„[PRESENT]
She woke from that memory with tears on her cheeks.
He was gone.
Not just from the country.
But from her story.
She clutched her phone like it could bring him back.
Stared at it for hours.
Nothing.
Not a single message.
Another family event was announced.
Some cousin's engagement. Her mother picked out her dress. Her aunts asked about her makeup.
But Lydia stood at the mirror and said nothing.
"I'm not going."
Her mother blinked. "Why not?"
She simply shrugged. "I don't feel like it."
She didn't say, Because max won't be there .
She didn't say, Because if I go, I'll look for him and break all over again.
She didn't say,Because I've already lost himâ and I don't know how to keep pretending I haven't.
She stayed home that night.
Locked the door.
Dimmed the lights.
Slipped beneath the blanket that still held his scent from that one time he laid there beside her.
And cried. Quietly. Desperately. Honestly.
Because he was gone.
And she had loved him.
Every moment. Every silence. Every inch of him.
But she never said it.
And now, she might never get the chance.