Four years. That's how long they lasted. Four years of laughter turned into silence and promises into excuses.
From the outside, their relationship looked flawless. A couple everyone admired, a "model love story" on campus. But behind closed doors, it was chaos wrapped in pretty paper.
Six months in, Bella already knew. Knew that this wasn't going to be the forever she dreamed of.
She wished they saw the truth: the perfect love they envied had rotted in just six months. She knew it, but she stayed. Why? Because leaving meant starting over, she was too tired to start over.
But oh, those first few months. They were intoxicating.
They walked under broken streetlights at night. Their ritual was simple: an empty classroom, whispered secrets, and curious hands.
Chris used to trace lines on her palm, pretending to read her future, then kiss the middle and whisper, "I've got you. Ain't going nowhere."
There were days he skipped classes to walk her to hers. Nights, they stayed awake until dawn, whispering dreams into the dark.
Back then, he noticed it all: how she tugged her earlobe, her favorite snack, and how her eyes lit up at her favorite song.
Their intimacy wasn't just sex; it was electricity. His breath grazed her neck, erasing every thought of where she stood.
Their first kiss was far from perfect. It happened in a taxi: unplanned, messy, and too much tongue. Yet it left her trembling for hours.
Chris knew how to make her feel wanted. The first time they made love, she thought the world had paused. It happened on campus in one of the hidden, quiet corners. No one was coming or looking. She didn't care, even as fear whispered they might get caught.
Every thrust was deep, slow, but sure, every kiss deep enough to brand her skin. He whispered her name like a prayer between moans. She clutched the desk until her knuckles ached. It was her first time taking something that size: thick, long, and overwhelming. Her breath hitched between sharp pain and a pleasure that made her forget her own name.
It was the kind of memory that ruins other men for you. Not because of the sex, but because he saw her, chose her, and devoured her like she was the only thing that mattered.
Now? He acted as if she wasn't even there.
Chris was brilliant—a tech guru, stock trader, and animation genius. He had everything going for him: he could make money appear from thin air and still ace his grades. But there was one thing he never learned to balance: his obsession with his world and his place in hers.
He spent the night trading, gaming, and coding, while she stared at her phone, waiting for a message that never came.
Bella called to hear his voice, but he cut her off: "I'm busy. You're messing with my signal."
The words lodged in her chest like pins.
She told him what she needed—not diamonds or grand gestures. It was his presence, his time, and the warmth of being chosen. But Chris had a way of making her feel guilty for wanting what should have been basic.
"You're too needy."
"You always want attention."
"You knew who I was before you said yes."
And so she learned to shrink. To stay quiet. To swallow her needs until her voice felt like a burden to herself.
She repeated her needs until her voice cracked, but he still didn't see her.
How many times can a heart beg before it grows tired?
A woman stops shouting, not because she's healed, but because she's numb.
Chris wasn't the kind of demon who roared or struck; he was the silent kind—the numb demon. He smiled enough to keep her hoping and touched her enough to keep her wanting, but never gave her the warmth she needed.
He didn't scream at her. He didn't cheat, at least not with his body. He cheated with his absence and his obsession with everything but her.
It was the kind of numbness that made you question your worth. One that left you lying beside a man who made your skin ignite at night, only to wake up cold and untouched by morning.
He could scroll for hours, game for days, and trade all night, but when it came to her heart, he was always too tired.
The numb fellows are more dangerous than the cruel ones. The cruel one you can hate. The numb one? He makes you stay, makes you think that a bit more effort and patience will bring back the man you first loved.
Numbness is a poison that never shouts. It creeps in, inch by inch, until it owns you. It makes you beg for crumbs and call them meals. And Bella, poor Bella, was starving.
The excuses became endless. The distance grew like weeds. And their love? It turned into something unrecognizable—more physical than emotional.
Yes, the sex was still good. Too good. The kind that leaves you breathless, aching, craving. The kind that makes you forget the silence for a few hours. He knew how to touch her, how to make her moan, and how to pull her close and make her arch until her nails left marks on his back.
After the kisses and the thrusts came silence; cold, heavy, swallowing her whole.
She needed more than that. More than the weight of his body, more than the heat of his skin. She needed presence. She needed a partnership.
She missed herself. She missed the girl who laughed without care and kept friends who made her forget the world. She missed calling Greene, her best friend, to gossip and breathe.
Chris didn't like Greene. Chris didn't want any man who wasn't him. She cut them out individually, trimming her world until only Chris remained. And now, even Chris wasn't there.
And that's the part that hurts the most: realizing you've given your all, and all you've become is an option.
Sometimes, she would stare at his sleeping face late at night and wonder: Is this what love feels like—being touched but never held?
His arms could pin her down, his lips could make her tremble, but they never held her when the world felt heavy.
Every time he kissed her, her body remembered what it meant to burn, but her heart kept freezing.
She lay there, his breath warm on her collarbone, her thighs still trembling from their storm. And yet, she felt emptier than before.
The orgasm felt like a bandage on a bleeding heart. The sex faded too fast, leaving her with nothing but hunger.
His touch satisfied her skin, but her soul still starved.
That's the real betrayal, not the bodies that wander, but the souls that stop reaching for you.
And the universe? It never lets a starving heart stay hungry for long. It teases first with a whisper that brushes your ear like a secret.
Then it tempts you with a look that lingers too long, a voice that tastes like possibility.
He smiled enough to keep her hoping and touched her enough to keep her wanting, but never gave her the warmth she needed.
She didn't know it yet, but temptation already had a name.
Alvin.