Finally, SPM was over. Three months of holiday stretched ahead—no school, no exams, just freedom. Or so I thought.
But freedom never came.
Somehow, they found out I was still talking to him. And everything started again. My phone was snatched away, locked out of reach. But this time, it wasn't just the phone.
It was me.
They locked me in four walls, a prison inside my own home. Day after day, for three months, I was trapped. If it had gone on any longer, I swear I would have been admitted into a mental hospital. My mind felt like it was splitting.
How was I supposed to contact him now? How could I let him know I was still alive, still holding on?
Every time Amma went out to buy groceries, I seized my chance. Barefoot if I had to, I walked twenty minutes under the burning sun, my heart racing with every step, to reach my friend's house.
The first time, she wasn't home.
The second time, the same.
The third time, too.
But on the fourth time, she finally opened the door.
And now I wish I had never gone back that day.
Because if I hadn't, maybe I would have been in peace—believing in my love, carrying hope inside me. Maybe that's why the heart always pushes us forward. But is this what I was meant to see?
I still don't know why—I opened my friend Icha's chat first.
Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was fate.
And there it was.
"Beb... I think he already cheat u. Look at this."
A screenshot followed. His story.
A girl's picture.
And beneath it, his caption—just one heart emoji.
My vision blurred instantly. The phone grew heavy in my hand until it slipped, nearly falling to the floor.
"No..." I whispered, voice shaking. My chest tightened as if the whole world pressed down on me.
Did he know? Did he know how many bruises I hid, how many lies I spun, how many kilometers I walked just to whisper to him, I'm still here?
And yet... he was holding another girl in his world while I was fighting to survive in mine.