---
Monday came with an overcast sky and a restless kind of quiet.
Ava walked across campus in a hoodie two sizes too big, her sketchpad tucked under one arm. Her hair was pulled into a bun, not for style but survival. Her phone had been on "Do Not Disturb" since Saturday night.
She needed to disappear — not from the world, but from his version of her.
Classes blurred by. Her professors talked about draping techniques and texture harmony, but Ava barely absorbed any of it. Her mind drifted back to that Instagram post. The girl's red lips. Jordan's arm around her. The comments.
She couldn't erase it. She didn't even want to. Not anymore.
That evening, she returned home to find Sasha waiting on the couch with two glasses of wine and a look Ava knew too well.
"Before you say anything," Sasha said, "I'm not gonna trash-talk him today. I'm just here with wine, Netflix, and violence if needed."
Ava gave a soft laugh — the first real one in days — and sank into the couch beside her.
"I think I'm done," she whispered.
"With Jordan?"
Ava nodded.
Sasha passed her the glass. "Good. Let the healing begin."
---
The next morning, Ava's phone buzzed at 7:43 a.m.
Jordan ❤️ is calling...
Her stomach turned.
She watched the screen ring out, then fade.
Seconds later, a message came in.
Jordan ❤️: Ava. Please talk to me. It's not what you think.
Then another.
Jordan ❤️: I messed up. I know. But you know how much I love you.
Then… a voice note.
Ava stared at the screen, debating.
She tapped play.
His voice came through low and slow, the way it always sounded when he was trying to charm her back. "Babe… I hate how we ended things. I didn't mean for you to find out like that. She's just a friend. It was a promo shoot. That picture was for the label. You know you're my heart, right?"
She paused it.
Same old lines.
Different lie.
A minute later, a Spotify link dropped into her inbox.
Jordan ❤️ sent you a playlist: "I Still Love You."
Ava scoffed.
The first song was All of Me by John Legend. The second? Back to You by Selena Gomez.
She threw her phone on the bed.
"You can't apologize through a playlist," she muttered. "Especially not with someone else's lips still on your collar."
---
Later that day, she met up with Caleb in the library.
They had a deadline approaching for their joint project — a fusion design piece inspired by emotional evolution. The irony wasn't lost on her.
"Rough day?" Caleb asked as she slid into the seat beside him.
She shrugged. "Jordan's in apology mode."
He didn't respond at first. Just opened their shared sketchpad and passed her a pencil.
"Want to use it?" he asked quietly.
She hesitated. Then took it.
She sketched with focus this time, sharper lines, bolder strokes. She drew a woman draped in layers — some torn, some sewn back stronger. It wasn't fashion anymore. It was therapy.
When she paused, Caleb spoke. "You don't have to go back. Even if he begs. Even if he cries. Especially if he cries."
She looked at him, surprised.
"Guys like Jordan use emotion like a performance," Caleb said. "They want to be forgiven, but they never want to change."
Ava stared at her drawing. "What if part of me still wants to believe him?"
"That part's called hope. It's beautiful. But it's not always smart."
She exhaled.
"I'm tired of being hopeful."
"Then be honest instead."
---
That night, Ava opened Jordan's playlist and pressed play again — not because she missed him, but because she wanted to see what he thought love sounded like.
The lyrics were sweet. The songs were familiar. But none of it felt real anymore.
Jordan never listened to her favorite songs. He never asked what music she listened to when she cried. He just performed. Curated affection the same way he built his Instagram: filters, captions, and angles.
She skipped every song until the end.
The final track was one he wrote himself — an acoustic song he'd recorded last month. She'd been in the studio when he wrote it. He told her it was "just a vibe."
Now he'd titled it "Ava's Song" — as if retroactively renaming something made it personal.
She closed Spotify.
Love wasn't a playlist.
Love was showing up.
Love was silence when needed, and noise when necessary. Love was Sasha holding space. Love was Caleb saying, "You don't have to go back."
She texted Jordan one last time.
> Ava: Please don't contact me anymore. I deserve more than lies dressed up in melody.
She hit send and blocked his number.
It felt like cutting off a limb.
But sometimes, survival means amputation.
---
Two days passed.
Ava slept better.
She worked harder.
She caught herself smiling more often.
And when Caleb texted her a photo of a dress pattern he thought she'd like — with the caption "Strong. Soft. Just like you." — she felt something stir inside her that wasn't sadness.
It was quiet.
It was slow.
It was something like... hope.
But the real kind this time.
---