Sam’s jaw tightened. “I’ve been thinking… maybe we’re not right for each other.”
He played a new chord, one he’d been learning. It wasn’t perfect, but it was honest.
They parted ways at the checkout, carrying separate bags to separate cars. Alex didn’t look back. He drove home to his quiet apartment, made himself a cup of coffee—black, the way he actually liked it—and sat down with his guitar.
At first, Alex dismissed it. Everyone has off days. But the crack widened over the following weeks. Sam started canceling plans last-minute, citing work, then family, then a vague “feeling under the weather.” His texts, once littered with emojis and exclamation points, became clipped. Okay. Sure. Maybe tomorrow. The Boyfriend
Alex smiled, and was surprised to find it didn’t hurt. “Good. I’m glad.”
“So that’s it?” Alex asked.
The breakup wasn’t dramatic. No yelling, no thrown dishes, no storming out. Alex simply gathered his things—his hoodie from the back of the chair, a toothbrush from the bathroom, the small succulent he’d brought over three months ago. At the door, he paused. Sam’s jaw tightened
“I’m seeing someone new,” Sam blurted, then winced. “Sorry, that’s—I didn’t mean to just—”
“For what it’s worth,” he said without turning around, “I would have woken up excited every day.”
Alex tried harder. He cooked Sam’s favorite pasta, bought tickets to a band they both loved, showed up at Sam’s door with a six-pack on a rainy Tuesday. Sam would smile—that old, bright smile—and for an hour, things felt normal. Then the smile would falter, and Sam’s eyes would drift to the window, or his phone, or anywhere but Alex’s face. They parted ways at the checkout, carrying separate
The first week was the hardest. Alex caught himself reaching for his phone to send Sam a meme, or stopping by a café to buy Sam’s favorite pastry before remembering there was no one to give it to. He slept badly, dreamed of Sam’s laugh—the real one, before the crack appeared.
Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Nothing changed. That’s the problem. I kept waiting to feel… more. And I don’t.” He finally looked at Alex—really looked. “You’re kind, and funny, and you remember how I take my coffee. You deserve someone who wakes up excited to see you. I wake up feeling guilty.”
He closed the door softly behind him.
Sam nodded, but his eyes were wet. “I’m sorry.”
“Try.”