Chapter 4 : The Loneliness You Don't Talk About

Heartbreak doesn't always come with dramatic exits.

Sometimes, it's just silence.

The kind that crawls into your bones and lingers-whispering doubts into every corner of your mind.

Yeah, that's how my first heartbreak felt.

One night, I was bored and scrolling through socials-hopping from one app to another-when I saw a post.

She. His ex.

She was wearing a polo shirt-his polo-in a hotel room, with one hell of a caption.

She ended it with: PC: my baby.

My heart dropped.

I don't know how to explain this, but I've always had this instinct.

A feeling.

Where I just know things without being told-and most times, it turns out to be true.

Maybe it's discernment. Maybe it's just gut. But that night, I was silently begging inside, Please God, let this not be true.

My chest was already hurting.

I took a screenshot and sent it to him.

"Don't think of lying to me. Just tell me the truth."

This was a man I had just spoken to on a voice call.

He had ended it with, "I love you."

Yeah, that same man.

His reply?

"I didn't do anything with her. I took her there. She wore my polo. She took the pictures. That's all."

He started going on about how he didn't want to hurt anyone, and how he was sorry.

That was the last message he ever sent me.

I called him-his number wasn't reachable.

What I didn't know then was that he had blocked me.

I kept calling anyway. I knew he was at his family house, so I called his brother.

His brother told me he had already left.

I started calling his friends.

That night felt like hell.

I kept asking myself-Was I not allowed to be angry?

Was I supposed to just smile and move on like nothing happened?

Like I hadn't just found out the man I loved, the man I considered my everything, cheated on me?

And not with some random girl, but with the same ex he told me not to worry about?

I felt stupid for trusting him.

I felt like I was the reason it happened.

I didn't think anything was wrong with him still being in contact with his ex.

I believed that trust was enough.

But clearly, I was wrong.

I kept calling every number of his that I had.

Still-nothing.

Then the next day, I saw a post.

It was him-with her.

All happy and lovey-dovey.

That was the moment I gave up.

Was I the only one going through this breakup?

Did he hate me that much?

Apparently, he did.

Because someone told me he said he stayed in the relationship because I had a weak heart.

And I think the broken pieces of my heart shattered into even smaller pieces when I heard that.

I'd stare at the mirror and ask myself,

When exactly did I stop being enough?

Was it when I nagged too much?

When I opened up about my fears?

When I asked for reassurance?

Or was it when I started needing too much?

I stopped dressing up.

What was the point?

I remember one day, I wore a rumpled outfit to class.

After the lecture, a lecturer I didn't even know noticed me called me aside.

He asked if I was okay.

Said he hadn't seen me look so disorganized before-I was always neat and composed, according to him.

I just nodded.

And yeah, I still called. I still texted.

I even reached out to his friends.

It wasn't because I wanted revenge.

And honestly, I didn't even want him back. Or at least, that's what I told myself.

What I wanted-what I needed-was closure.

I wanted to stop feeling like I was so easy to forget.

Loneliness wasn't about being alone.

It was about being unseen-like standing in the middle of a crowded room and still feeling invisible.

Like your heart had been folded up and tucked away in a drawer somewhere, collecting dust, forgotten by the world but not by you.

It's the kind of silence that doesn't echo but sinks.

The kind of ache you carry with a smile, hoping no one asks, because you're not sure the words would even come out right.

And maybe that's the cruelest part of it all-

That you can be surrounded... and still feel like you're disappearing quietly.