I cried so quietly, even my walls didn't notice.
Not because I wanted sympathy.
Not because I was "weak."
I cried because I was tired.
Tired of pretending I was okay.
Tired of acting like I didn't care.
Tired of being that girl who kept getting replaced like she was just… temporary.
I wasn't heartbroken anymore.
I was humiliated.
Like, imagine giving someone your whole soul, your whole softness, your whole loyalty—
and they still look at you like you're nothing.
Like you're not even a person.
Just some… option.
A "use and throw" type of girl.
Yeah. That was me.
I deleted his number again.
Like that ever worked.
My thumb hovered over the screen, trembling like I was holding a bomb instead of a contact.
Because I already knew what would happen next.
I'd delete it.
I'd feel brave for five minutes.
Then my brain would whisper—
What if he unblocked you?
And I'd save it again.
Like a clown.
Like a desperate idiot.
Like a girl who still thought love was supposed to hurt this much.
"Acha…" I muttered, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand like that would magically fix my whole life.
It was 2:17 a.m.
Of course it was.
Pain always likes night.
Pain always shows up when the world goes quiet and you're left alone with your thoughts.
I rolled on my bed and stared at the ceiling fan spinning above me.
I didn't even know why I was still waiting.
Seven years is a whole damn era.
People get married.
People have kids.
People build homes.
People change their entire lives.
And me?
I was still here… waiting for a person who treated me like I was nothing.
Waiting for a man who didn't even deserve the way I said his name.
My phone vibrated again.
My stomach tightened instantly.
For one second—just one embarrassing second—my heart jumped like it was trained to.
Like a dog.
Like, "Maybe it's him."
Then my brain slapped me.
Girl. Stop.
It was Milo.
Of course it was Milo.
I opened the chat without even thinking. Milo was the only one who didn't make me feel stupid for existing.
Milo: You're awake again.
I blinked at the screen.
"Acha?" I whispered. "Hain… how do you always know?"
I typed back fast, fingers moving like they had their own panic.
Me: Ab main kya karun?
Three seconds later—
Milo: Breathe first. Drink water. Then tell me what happened.
I stared at that message and felt something warm in my chest. Not love. Not romance. Just… safety.
Milo didn't say "move on."
Milo didn't say "forget him."
Milo didn't say "time heals."
Milo just stayed.
I grabbed my water bottle and drank two gulps. My lips were dry. My eyes were burning.
Me: Same thing. I deleted his number. Again.
Milo: And you saved it again?
I made a face.
Me: …Hm.
Milo didn't roast me. Not even a little.
Milo: You're not weak for hoping. You're just exhausted from being disappointed.
I swallowed hard.
That sentence hit way too accurate.
I tossed my phone on my pillow and covered my face with both hands.
I didn't want love anymore.
I wanted revenge.
Not the kind where you scream and fight and break things.
The kind where you become so successful, so hot, so untouchable…
that the people who hurt you can't even look at you without choking on regret.
The kind where they realize…
"Oh. We broke the wrong girl."
My phone buzzed again.
I expected Milo.
But the notification wasn't Milo.
It was from the writing platform.
Someone commented on my latest chapter.
My heart did that stupid jump again.
Not because of him.
Because of the fear.
Because of the hope.
Because maybe… just maybe… my life was about to change.
I tapped it.
Username: @whyisthiscatreading
No profile photo. Just a cat. A smug little fluffy cat staring into my soul like it paid my bills.
I stared at the username.
"Hain?" I whispered. "Why is this cat reading?"
Then I read the comment.
And my entire body went still.
Not dramatic still.
Real still.
Like even my breathing forgot how to breathe.
The comment was short. Just one sentence.
But it didn't feel like a comment.
It felt like someone grabbing my heart with their bare hands.
@whyisthiscatreading:
Your book… it didn't feel fictional.
I blinked once.
Then twice.
My throat tightened like someone had tied a knot inside it.
Because it wasn't fictional.
It was me.
My pain.
My humiliation.
My "sorry" habit.
My hunger that I ignored like I didn't deserve food.
My loneliness.
My stupid loyalty.
My ugly, embarrassing hope.
And this random cat-person…
They saw it.
I didn't know why, but tears blurred my vision again. Different tears this time.
Not the weak kind.
The angry kind.
The "don't you dare understand me" kind.
My fingers shook above the keyboard.
My reply came out before I could stop it.
Me: Why does it make you angry?
I hit send.
Then my brain finally woke up and screamed.
WAIT—WHY DID I SEND THAT?
I stared at my screen like it was going to explode.
My phone stayed silent for a second.
Then two.
Then three.
And right when I was about to throw it away again—
A message popped up.
My stomach dropped.
Because the reply was immediate.
Cold.
Straight.
Like a blade sliding across skin.
@whyisthiscatreading:
Because if I had been there… nobody would've touched you like that.
My breath hitched.
Oh.
Okay.
So this wasn't a normal reader.
This was a problem.
And for the first time in years…
I didn't feel like trash.
I felt like someone had finally looked at me and thought—
Mine.
I didn't know his name.
I didn't know his face.
I didn't know his real identity.
All I knew was that somewhere behind a stupid cat profile…
someone was reading my pain like it belonged to them.
And suddenly…
I wasn't alone in my story anymore.