Soon

The ceiling fan spun lazily above Rose's dorm bed, casting fractured shadows across the walls. She stared at it, counting the rotations like each one was a second slipping away—another moment wasted thinking about him.

Her phone buzzed.

Again.

Again.

She didn't need to look to know it was Daniel.

But she did anyway.

Daniel: You're really not gonna answer me?

Rose's fingers twitched.

Part of her wanted to throw the phone across the room.

Part of her wanted to reply.

And that was the problem.

Always the problem.

She exhaled, slow and controlled, before typing:

Rose: I'm studying.

Lie.

She hadn't opened a textbook in days. Hadn't been able to focus on anything but the gnawing, suffocating emptiness in her chest.

The one that whispered:

Why doesn't he love me the way I love him?

She loved hard.

Too hard.

The kind of love that left bruises—on her.

The kind of love that burned so bright it hurt.

And Daniel?

Daniel loved her like a habit.

Convenient. Comfortable.

Disposable.

First loves were supposed to be sweet.

Innocent.

Hers was a fucking tragedy.

Three years.

Three years of giving pieces of herself away, bit by bit, until she wasn't sure what was left.

Three years of:

"You're overreacting."

"You're too sensitive."

"Why can't you just trust me?"

And the worst part?

She had.

She'd trusted him.

Even when her gut screamed liar.

Even when the evidence was right there—the late-night messages, the sudden "work calls," the way his voice got softer when he talked to her.

Whoever she was.

Rose never asked.

Because asking meant knowing.

And knowing meant it was real.

*"Let's get married."*

Daniel had said it like it was nothing.

Like it was casual.

Like he hadn't spent the last six months pulling away, leaving her stranded in this limbo of *"Are we even together anymore?"*

And Rose?

Rose had laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because it was pathetic.

Because after everything—after the lies, the distance, the cheating—he still thought she'd say yes.

And the sickest, most twisted part?

She did.

Because what if this was it?

What if this was all she got?

What if no one else would ever love her?

What if she spent the rest of her life telling her kids, "Your dad was my first love," like that excused the way he broke her?

Her phone buzzed again.

Not Daniel this time.

Unknown: You deserve better.

Rose's breath hitched.

How—?

She hadn't said anything. Hadn't told anyone.

Rose: Who is this? I'm asking again

Unknown: Someone who sees you.

The words sent a shiver down her spine.

Because no one saw her.

Not really.

Not even Daniel.

Rose: This isn't funny.

Unknown: It's not a joke.

A pause.

Then—

Unknown: You're afraid to leave because you think no one will ever love you like he did.

Rose's vision blurred.

Yes.

God, yes.

But that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was—

Unknown: You're wrong.

Rose wanted to be loved.

Really loved.

The kind of love that didn't leave her questioning.

The kind of love that didn't hurt.

The kind you'd see in books.

The kind of love that stayed.

And maybe—

Maybe that was why she couldn't let go.

Because letting go meant admitting she'd settled.

That she'd given her heart to someone who never knew how to hold it.

Ethan stared at his phone.

The message had come through hours ago.

Unknown: She needs you.

He didn't know who "she" was.

Didn't know why his chest ached every time his phone buzzed.

But he felt her.

Like a whisper.

Like a ghost.

Like fate.

He typed back:

Ethan: Who are you?

Error. Message failed to send.

He tried again.

Error.

Again.

Error.

Frustration coiled in his gut.

What the hell is happening?

Rose's fingers flew across her screen.

Rose: Tell me who you are.

Error.

She tried again.

Rose: Please

Error.

Her throat tightened.

Why now?

Why this?

Why give her hope just to rip it away?

She squeezed her eyes shut.

I just want someone to love me the way I love them.

Was that too much to ask?

Her phone buzzed one last time.

Unknown: Soon.

Then—

Silence.