Under the streetlamp, her face wavered between anger, embarrassment, and a faint, almost hidden flicker of hurt.
But I no longer cared.
Bracing my hands on my knees, I pushed myself upright and wiped my mouth.
“Arianne, did you see that? This is how I feel about you now. We are—"
Before I could finish the sentence, she slammed the car door and sped away without a single word.
That night, Arianne, whose social media had been a barren wasteland for years, suddenly posted an update.
A close-up photo of her and Hudson appeared on her feed.
Caption: [Finally met the right person.]
Almost immediately, our mutual friends filled the comments with likes and congratulations.
[Wow, Arianne is officially taken! Congrats!]
[Such a perfect couple. When’s the wedding?]
[Hudson! So you two are together now!]
My WhatsApp lit up endlessly.
[Clyde, what happened between you and Arianne?]
[I saw her post. Did you two break up?]
[Are you okay?]
I ignored all of them. Instead, I fixed myself a plate of pasta and ate with surprising appetite.
Later that night, the mattress dipped beside me. I jolted awake, heart hammering, as a shadowy figure sat near my hip.
“Don’t be scared. It is me.”
I exhaled sharply, turned over, and showed her my back.
The bedside lamp clicked on, casting a sharp and sudden light. Arianne leaned over me, her eyes red and swollen as she stared down.
“You have nothing you want to ask me? You didn't see my post?”
I had no idea what kind of emotional spiral she was having, but being woken in the middle of the night like this infuriated me.
“I saw it. Congratulations.”
She froze, her breath catching. The anger on her face seemed to fold in on itself, turning into something softer and strangely hurt.
“Before, whenever I came home late, you’d call me nonstop,” she said quietly. “You’d leave the lights on and wait up for me. Now you don’t even look at me.”
She took a small step closer, her voice wavering between defensive and pleading.
“Nothing is going on between Hudson and me. I was just helping him because he’s a junior. If you don’t like it, I’ll transfer him to another department tomorrow.”
I looked at her, and all I felt was emptiness. I had cried, argued, and begged her for a sense of security. Yet, she had always found me annoying.
Now that I no longer needed any of it, she was offering everything as if it were nothing.
But my flight was already booked for two days later.