I replied, my voice trembling,
"Friendship between a man and a woman doesn't exist. Don't play games with me."
Antony clenched his jaw.
"Stop it. I don't like it when you get this invasive."
Those words hit me like a slap. My chest tightened, tears threatened to fall, but I managed to whisper,
"So your cousin was right, then! You do have someone else! Antony, I don't like this… you're my boyfriend!"
He turned sharply.
"Enough. You're accusing me for no reason."
On the way home, I waited for him to say something — anything. But he didn't.
Silence. Only the hum of the car and the sound of my heart breaking.
I was disappointed. His cousin's words kept echoing in my mind, scratching at every thought.
When we went to bed, neither of us spoke.
Then, unexpectedly, he kissed me. I tried to push him away, but my body refused to listen to my mind.
We made love that night — and the next morning, I acted as if nothing had happened.
We spent the day on the couch, watching a movie, pretending everything was normal.
But deep down, I knew that moment was slipping away.
My time with him was running out.
I had to leave, to go back home. And when he drove me there, an emptiness opened inside me — as if something that had just begun was already ending.
I cried like a child.
I'll never forget what he said:
"Sometimes, the universe brings two people together for a reason — to last forever. Text me when you get home… and call me. I want to hear your voice."
Those words tied me to him even more.
From then on, every month I came back to see him was the best part of my life.
Being with him, seeing him, kissing him, feeling him.
Even if it was only for a few days — it was enough.
After six months of living like that, I finally started to believe in us.
And that's when I discovered what his cousin really meant that night.