It didn't come with slammed doors or loud tears.
It came gently—like the way evening slides into night. So slowly, so quietly… that you barely notice it, until it's dark.
That day, she messaged me after school.
"Can we meet at the back gate after class? Just for a while."
I stared at the message longer than I should've. Something in me already knew—this wouldn't be just a casual walk.
I waited for her where we always met, near the crumbling brick wall covered in old chalk scribbles. The air was cold, and my palms were colder. I remember counting the minutes by the thudding of my heart.
She arrived, hands buried in her sleeves, her eyes not quite meeting mine.
For a second, we just stood.
Two people who once shared everything, now sharing silence.
Then she spoke—softly, carefully, as if her words could break the world.
"I've been thinking… maybe we need some space."
My world tilted.
Not because I hadn't expected it,
But because I wasn't ready to let go of someone I had already made a home in.
I forced a smile.
"Space for what?"
She looked down, biting her lip.
"Listen! I love someone else So….. I've been thinking that I need some space. Space…. to figure things out. To... breathe."
And even though every part of me wanted to hold her hand, to beg her not to leave—I nodded.
Because I loved her too much to cage her in.
"Okay," I whispered.
"If it helps you, I'll wait."
She looked up, and for a flicker of a moment, I saw her eyes shine—the way they used to when we first met.
She stepped closer.
Hugged me like it was both an apology and a goodbye.
And then she left.
Not with anger. Not with hate.
Just with a soft goodbye that echoed far louder than any scream ever could.
That night, I sat in my room staring at our old photos.
The one at the Winter Games.
The one near the art room where she stole my pen and laughed for hours.
The one where she wore that sky-blue kurti that made her look like a dream.
Every picture told a story.
And every story hurt.
I realized then—sometimes, the worst goodbyes don't come with closure.
They come with confusion. With the hope that maybe, just maybe, it's not really over.
But deep inside, I already knew:
This was the first goodbye.
And sometimes, the first one… is the one that stays