Ten digit phone number

My ringtone dragged me out of sleep. Squinting, I try to see past the burning brightness of my phone.

As my tired brain tried to make out the ten digits, I was mentally cursing the person who’d call me this late at night.

“Hello,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

“Hey, did I wake you?” asked a husky voice. I immediately jolted up, not because of its sexy deep tone, but because  I knew it all too well.

It was the voice with whom I’d spent hours on the phone.

It was her voice.

“I know it’s late. But are you free?” she asked.

“Uh..uh.. yeah sure,” I stammered.

It had been weeks since we’d spoken.

Apparently, exes can’t be friends.

“I am aware it’s been long, but I need to talk to you,” she said.

Those words immediately brought a smile to my face.

Had she thinking about me?

The butterflies came back to life in my stomach.

“I know it’s selfish of me to talk to you about this, but I didn’t know who else to go.”

I was confused now.

What is she talking?

“There’s this boy.”

My heart sunk.

“He’s so different. Really different. He makes me want to be a better person. He’s so strong, I mean after everything he’s been through he’s still so happy. He inspires me.”

Her excited voice continued speaking, but I couldn’t hear anymore. It’s like my brain stopped trying to understand what she was saying.

My throat went dry, and my vision started to go blur.

“You there?” she asked, just now noticing that I hadn’t said anything in a while.

“Yeah,” I replied, struggling to hide my shaky voice. She continued, and it hurt knowing that she didn’t realize that I was crying.

I couldn’t help but wonder what I’d done wrong. Why couldn’t I be that boy for her?

My eyes were stinging now.

And suddenly it hit me.

Just because she was the love of my life, doesn’t mean I was hers.

With a heavy heart, but a smile on my face, I wish for a happy ending this time, even if the love story wasn’t mine.

It is said that between two people there is always someone who loves more and most of times it is the same person who notices the end before it comes. It feels suicidal to go beyond reason and still hope that it might get better, that the love may stay, that it has to be a way to fix everything. Yet the heart still breaks, the heart still beats, the heart still cracks but it still beats.

What an ironic way of loving in and out of mind, of love, of heart. How can we love more, give more, lose more and be our own hero when our heart doesn’t belong to us anymore? How can we be the one who see the end when forever is all we hope?



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