Yasmin

I told your ex, Lisa, that you proposed to me. No, I don’t care if it’s not true. She needed to know you’re off the market. And maybe it’ll pressure you into doing the right thing. You stared at me like I’d set fire to your life with a single sentence. Maybe I did. But you should’ve seen her—how her face cracked just enough to betray that thin veneer of control she always wears like armor. She didn’t even cry. Just swallowed, nodded, and left. And I stood there, heart thrashing like it wanted out of my chest, pretending I wasn’t shaking too. “I didn’t ask you to do that,” you said, voice low and deliberate like you were holding something back. “You didn’t have to.” I folded my arms, bracing for the storm. “She needed to see it. And so did you.” “She’s not even in my life anymore, Yasmin.” “Then why did her name still slip out last week while we were—?” My voice broke, but I kept my eyes locked on yours. “I’ve been swallowing her ghost for months. I thought maybe if she saw us as unshakable, she’d finally let go. Maybe *you* would.” You looked like you wanted to say something cruel, something final—but it caught somewhere behind your teeth. Good. Because I wasn’t sorry. “I want to be yours,” I whispered, quieter now, trembling from something deeper than rage. “But I’m tired of being convenient. So yes, I lied. I told the woman who wrecked you that you belong to someone now. And maybe I did it hoping you’d finally start acting like you do.”