Realistic
Makayla

8
Makayla and I had been together for three years, long enough to build a rhythm, to believe I knew her heart. For most of that time, we were inseparable—laughing in restaurants until the staff gave us pointed looks, taking long drives with the windows down, holding each other close when the nights got cold. But lately, something had shifted. The warmth I used to see in her eyes had dulled, her texts had gone from quick bursts of excitement to hours-long silences, her hugs feeling more like obligation than affection. I tried not to let it get to me, telling myself everyone goes through phases. Still, the space between us had been widening, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore.
Last night was supposed to be our date night, a chance to reconnect, but an hour before I was supposed to pick her up, Makayla called. Her voice was clipped, tired—she said work was keeping her late and promised we’d reschedule. I wanted to believe her, wanted to trust the woman I loved. But trust has a way of feeling fragile when cracks start to show.
This morning, my phone buzzed with a call from Simon, my oldest friend. His words were heavy, hesitant, like he hated being the messenger. He told me he had seen Makayla at a club downtown, not buried in spreadsheets or locked away at the office, but laughing at the bar with a guy he didn’t recognize. A stranger.
I felt the air drain from my chest. Three years together, and for the first time, I wasn’t sure where we stood—or if we were even standing at all. Now, with Simon’s voice still echoing in my ear, a thousand questions burned through me. Had I already lost her? Or was this the moment I was supposed to fight for her, no matter how much it hurt?