I'll be there to help you

He glanced at me with a look of genuine interest. "Go ahead, you can discuss anything you like."

I took a deep breath, feeling the rush of words about to spill out. "I am dating a guy. When he proposed to me, I thought he was joking, so I said yes in a playful way. Who knew he would take it seriously?"

He stopped walking and turned to look at me, his expression serious. "So, you want to be with this guy or not?"

I shook my head vigorously. "I can't even imagine being with him."

He took a moment to reply, choosing his words carefully. "Is he a bad person?"

I hesitated, not sure how to answer. Seeing my silence, he continued, "Well, you can always give some excuse, like you don't want to get married right now, or focus on your career and all."

"I told him that when we were friends," I said, feeling a bit hopeless.

He sighed, considering the situation. "You could be straightforward and break up with him."

"If I had the courage, I wouldn't have asked you," I admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed.

He nodded in understanding. "Do you have any female friends you can talk to about this?"

I shook my head again. "They're not in the city right now."

He laughed lightly, trying to lighten the mood. "Do you want me to be the girl and trap him into a breakup? But I got no female chest."

His joke made me smile, despite the serious topic. My ears turned hot with a mix of embarrassment and amusement. "I will try to find a method," I said, feeling slightly more hopeful.

"Sure, let me know what you decide. I'll be there to help you," he offered sincerely.

We continued walking, talking about lighter topics to ease the tension. The night felt full of possibilities, and his presence was comforting. Before long, we exchanged social media information and I thanked him for his advice and company.

Perhaps, with his encouragement, I could muster the courage to address the situation with Harry. Getting home, as I lay in my bed, I opened my Instagram and searched his profile. His username was rather unique, people had their name and this mister had the number. I browsed through his posts, and one particular picture caught my attention. Looking at it, I froze, and then I saw the location tagged. The temperature seemed to drop further. There he was, dressed in a military uniform, standing in the field.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I immediately texted him, asking, "Are you in the army?"

His reply came almost instantly: "YES" with a half-smile emoji. I stared at the text, thinking he must be joking. I asked again, "Really?"

"Yes, I am a major," he replied.

I stared at his text for what felt like an eternity, my mind reeling. **WTF, HE IS A MAJOR AND FROM PLORA COUNTRY, AN ARMY OFFICER FROM MY COUNTRY'S ENEMY COUNTRY??!!!!** I pinched myself, half hoping I was dreaming. The pain from the pinch confirmed the reality. "Damn, this is real," I muttered to myself.

Just then, my phone buzzed with another message. He sent another picture of him in uniform along with the text: "Do you like it?" This was followed by another message: "Don't tell anyone, it's a secret between you and me, okay?"

I stared at the texts, speechless. This revelation was beyond anything I could have imagined. After a moment, I gathered myself and replied, "Okay, nice."

Another message hit: "So what you thought about your situation?" followed by another: "By the way, do you like or hate people from the forces?"

I glanced at the texts, my mind too focused on him to think about my situation. His question about himself made me wonder, did I like or hate people from the forces? This was something I had never really thought about. The army was there to protect the country, and I was grateful for it. But on a personal level, I had no particular thoughts about it. And now, here was a soldier from an enemy country asking if I liked people from forces. What could I reply? "I hate you"? No right? I took another moment to reply back: "Umm, it's alright. There's neither like nor dislike," which was quite the reality as well.

He replied with laughing emojis. But then I remembered I had actually forgotten his name. I tried to remember, but nothing came to mind. I was good at remembering details, but when it came to remembering names, I sucked at it. So I just texted: "Sorry, I forgot your name."

Another burst of laughing emojis came by with his name: "Karim."

I stared at the name on the screen, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement. **Karim**. It had a nice ring to it. I typed back, "Got it. Thanks, Karim."

The next few days were filled with a strange sense of anticipation and confusion. I found myself thinking about Karim constantly, replaying our conversations and the revelations about his life. His role as a major in the Plora army was a significant part of his identity, and it complicated my feelings.

I messaged him one evening, feeling the need to address the situation more directly. "Hey, Karim, can we talk about something serious?"

He replied almost immediately. "Of course, what's on your mind?"

I took a deep breath and began typing. "This whole situation with you being in the army, from Plora... it's a lot to process. I don't know how to feel about it."

His response was understanding. "I know it's a lot, Kristen. And I don't expect you to be okay with it right away. But I'm here to answer any questions you have and talk through it."

I appreciated his openness. "Thanks. It's just... strange, you know? We come from countries that have been enemies for so long. And now, I'm talking to you, a major in the Plora army. It's surreal."

"It is," he agreed. "But I think it's also an opportunity to see beyond our nationalities and get to know each other as people."

His perspective was refreshing, and it helped ease some of my concerns. "You're right. It's just... feels weird, I still can't believe you're a major."

Karim responded with his characteristic calmness, "Well, it's up to you if you want to believe."

His nonchalant reply made me chuckle despite the seriousness of the topic. "I guess I'll have to come to terms with it," I said, trying to lighten the mood.

The doorbell to my apartment rang suddenly, interrupting my thoughts. I quickly pocketed my phone and went to open the door. Standing there was Harry, his expression unreadable. "Can I come in?" he asked quietly.

I nodded silently, stepping aside to let him enter. I led him to the living room and fetched a glass of water, which he accepted gratefully. He drank it in silence, sitting on one end of the couch while I sat on the opposite side, the tension palpable between us.

After a few moments of uneasy silence, Harry broke it with a direct question. "Are you done with your space?"

I kept my eyes down, gathering my thoughts before meeting his gaze. I took a deep breath and nodded slightly. "I think we should break up," I said softly.

Harry's eyes narrowed, his expression hardening with each passing moment. I felt a wave of suffocation as memories of our relationship and its unraveling flooded my mind. His gaze bore into me, demanding an explanation.

"I think we should break up," I repeated, my voice steadier this time.

"Reason?" he asked tersely.

I took a moment to gather my thoughts before speaking. "You and I both know we won't work out," I began slowly. "I don't want to get married... ever," I continued, the words tumbling out. "And I want to focus on my career."

Harry remained silent, absorbing my words with a stoic expression. "It's fine," he finally replied, his voice calm and composed.

His nonchalant response surprised me. I felt a mix of relief and guilt at his calm acceptance. "I want us to part ways amicably," I added, trying to soften the blow.

Harry stood up abruptly, his posture rigid. He turned to face me, his eyes intense. "Forget about a breakup, Kristen," he said firmly. "That ain't happening."

I stared at him, stunned by his assertion. "Harry, please," I pleaded softly, feeling overwhelmed by his resolve.

He shook his head, his expression unwavering. "I'm not letting you go that easily," he said firmly. "

I struggled to find the right words, torn between my desire for independence and the lingering feelings of guilt and attachment. "Harry, things have changed," I said quietly.

"We can work through this," he insisted, his voice tinged with desperation. "Give us a chance."

I shook my head, tears welling up in my eyes. "I can't," I whispered. "I need to figure out who I am without us."

Harry's expression softened slightly, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "I understand," he said quietly. "But I'm not giving up on us."

With those words, he turned and walked out of the apartment, leaving me standing there, feeling torn and conflicted. As I watched him leave, I knew that this conversation was far from over. The decision to break up with Harry had been difficult, but I knew deep down that it was necessary for my own growth and happiness.

Over the following days, I wrestled with guilt and uncertainty. Harry's refusal to accept the breakup weighed heavily on my mind. I questioned my decision repeatedly, wondering if I had made the right choice.