Seven years. That’s how long we were together, and in all that time, there wasn't a single trace of me on Maya’s social media. No tagged photos, no subtle shots of my hand across a dinner table, nothing. Until yesterday. She posted a photo with a junior colleague from her firm—a clean-cut guy she’d mentored back in college. They were standing in a sleek conference room, looking like a power duo. Her caption read: “Look who’s all grown up and holding his own against me at the negotiation table.” The guy commented almost instantly: “Checkmate, Maya. I’m just getting started.” This time, I didn't pick a fight. I didn't even send a snarky text. I just felt a strange, hollow quiet settle in my chest. When my mom called later that evening to suggest a blind date with a family friend’s daughter, I didn't argue. I just said, “Okay.” The high school reunion was held two weeks after I walked out on Maya. It was the first time I’d seen her since the breakup. … When I walked into the private room at the bistro, the old gang was already mid-toast. Our old class president was teasing Maya. “Come on, Maya,” he laughed. “Are you really going to play the Ice Queen forever? You’ve been single since graduation.” “Seriously,” another girl chimed in. “I’ve tried setting you up with half the eligible bachelors in the city. What’s your type, anyway? Does he even exist?” I kept my head down, sliding into an empty seat at the far end of the table. Maya’s eyes shifted, landing directly on me. She took a slow sip of her water and looked back at the class president. “Ask him,” she said. The table went silent. Twenty heads turned toward me in unison. “Oh, that’s right! Ben, you were her desk mate for three years. You’ve got the inside track. What does our resident genius actually look for in a man?” “How would I know?” I said, my voice flatter than I intended. The guy who asked looked a bit taken alphabetical back by my tone. Maya’s lips twitched into a faint, unreadable smirk. She didn't look away. Someone else broke the tension. “Wait, Ben might not know, but I have a theory! Did you guys see Maya’s post the other day? That guy in the suit? With a face like that, I don't blame her for finally catching feelings.” “I saw that!” Suddenly, everyone was fumbling for their phones, scrolling through Instagram to find the photo. But they hit a wall. “So stingy, Maya!” someone teased. “Did you archive it already? Keeping him all to yourself?” “Lucky for you, I took a screenshot!” a girl at the end of the table announced, proudly waving her phone. She sent it to the group chat. In the photo, the guy’s eyes were bright, his gaze fixed on Maya with an expression that bordered on worship. Maya stood beside him in a sharp blazer, the corner of her mouth lifted in a rare, soft smile. They looked like the lead couple in a high-end legal drama. The room erupted into chatter about how "perfect" they looked together. My best friend, Matt, nudged me with his elbow. “Maya never comes to these things,” he whispered. “What’s she doing here today?” I took a long pull of my soda. “Who knows.” A few days ago, on my birthday, Maya and I had the worst fight of our seven-year relationship over that very photo. I asked her why she could never acknowledge me—not once—but could post a glowing tribute to some guy she’d known for five minutes. She just frowned and told me I was being "insecure and dramatic." Seven years is a long time to wait for a person to be proud of you. I couldn't do it anymore. The anxiety, the constant questioning of my own worth—it had eroded everything. I’d reached the end of my rope. That night, I had lit a single candle on a grocery-store cupcake. I made a wish. For seven years, the wish had been the same: Please let her love me enough to show me off. This year, I changed it. I looked at Maya’s tired, annoyed expression and said, “Maya, my birthday wish this year is for us to break up.” It was the first time I’d ever suggested it. She froze for a second, her face transitioning back to its usual, cool composure. “Are you sure about that?” she asked, her voice dangerously quiet. “Ben, if you walk out that door, you’re the one who’s going to regret it. Not me.” I knew what she meant. She had the pedigree—the Ivy League degree, the seven-figure salary at a top tech firm, the effortless beauty. She was the girl who had everything. And me? I was the son of a high school teacher. I worked a steady, mid-level marketing job. I was "fine." If my mom hadn't been the head of the honors program, I wouldn't have even been in the same classroom as Maya, let alone her life. But that night, I just nodded. “I’m sure.” It took me three hours to pack my life into boxes. I moved out before sunrise. “Earth to Ben,” Matt said, snapping his fingers in front of my face. I blinked, returning to the present. Maya was currently fielding questions about the "mystery man." “Stop it, guys,” she said smoothly. “He’s just a junior from the office. He recently transferred to my department.” Matt leaned in closer to me. “I don't buy it. Maya doesn't post anyone. You don't break a streak like that for a ‘junior.’” “I guess not,” I muttered. It took seven years of me begging, and I couldn't even get a blurred photo of my shadow on her grid. When the reunion ended, a light drizzle had started to fall. I didn't want to wait twenty minutes for an Uber, so I pulled my jacket over my head and started jogging toward the subway station. I was halfway there when a familiar black Audi pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down. “Get in,” Maya said. I didn't stop. I kept walking, my sneakers splashing through the puddles. Maya hopped out of the car and grabbed my arm. “Why are you being so stubborn? You’re going to catch a cold.” I wrenched my arm away. “Since when is that your problem?” “Ben,” she said, her grip tightening. “Are you actually serious about this? This… tantrum?” I knew what she was doing. She was giving me a "way out." A chance to apologize, to slide back into our routine, to pretend the breakup never happened. “What do you think, Maya?” She let out a sharp, cold laugh and let go of my arm. “Fine. Suit yourself. I’m done playing games.” She got back in the car and floored it. The spray from her tires soaked my jeans and sneakers. The spring air in the city was starting to turn, but the rain brought a biting chill. I pulled my jacket tighter and kept walking toward the station. When I finally got back to my mom’s house, she was waiting with a mug of hot ginger tea. “I figured you’d be walking in the rain,” she said, shaking her head. “You never listen, Ben. I told you to take an umbrella.” I took the mug, leaning against the kitchen counter. I’d ignored a lot of warnings lately. “Did you see Maya?” Mom asked, her eyes lighting up. She loved Maya. To my mom, Maya was the gold standard—the star student who had actually made it. She kept tabs on Maya’s career like it was a hobby. “Yeah. I saw her,” I said, looking into my tea. “I wonder if she’s seeing anyone,” Mom mused. “A girl like that… she’s so brilliant, so picky. Most men wouldn't even know how to talk to her.” I felt a sharp ache behind my eyes. I swallowed a mouthful of the spicy tea. “I think she’s found someone.” “Really?” Mom looked genuinely excited. “Yeah.” She must have noticed my mood shifting. She went quiet for a moment, then added, “Well, my Ben is a catch too. If you’d just put yourself out there, you’d find someone wonderful.” I looked up at her. “Do you really believe that, Mom?” She looked surprised. Usually, whenever she brought up dating, I’d get defensive or change the subject. She nodded firmly. “Of course! Your Aunt Sarah mentioned a girl—Chloe. She’s lovely, very successful, and she’s back in town for the holidays. Why don't you meet her for a drink?” “Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it.” The next two days were quiet. I slept in, spent hours scrolling through apartment listings, trying to figure out where I’d move once I got back to the city after the break. I was walking out of my bedroom on the third morning when I stopped dead. Maya was sitting on our living room sofa. My mom came out of the kitchen with a plate of sliced fruit. She saw me and frowned. “Ben! You’re still in your pajamas? Maya stopped by to say hello, and you’re being a terrible host. Go change.” I retreated into my room and stayed there as long as possible. I wasn't being vain. Maya had been a student of my mom’s, and she came by every year to pay her respects. The irony was that even after we’d started dating, Maya insisted we keep it a secret from my mother. At first, I thought it was romantic—our little secret. Then, as years passed, it felt like a cage. “I’m just not ready to tell her yet,” she’d say. “It’ll be awkward. Let’s just keep things as they are.” “I’m not the type to do the whole ‘meet the parents’ thing as a couple. It’s cringe.” “Next year, Ben. I promise.” Next year turned into seven years. When my mom called for me the third time, I forced myself out. “Look at him, he’s actually shy around his old classmate,” Mom joked. I didn't look at Maya. “Mom, I’m actually heading out to meet someone. I should probably get going.” “Oh?” Mom’s eyebrows shot up. She lowered her voice, a huge grin spreading across her face. “Is it for your date with Chloe?” I didn't answer, but my silence was all the confirmation she needed. “Go, go! Don't keep a lady waiting.” Maya spoke up suddenly. “Who’s Chloe?” “A girl Ben’s aunt set him up with,” Mom answered, beaming. “She’s wonderful. She works in the city too. Actually, Maya, you should look out for our Ben since you’re both in the same circles. Make sure he doesn't pick someone too crazy.” She didn't notice Maya’s face go pale and then settle into a cold, hard mask. “Mom—” I cut her off. “I’m leaving.” I walked out the door, but I didn't even make it to the end of the driveway before Maya caught up to me. “A date?” she hissed, grabbing my wrist. “Care to explain that, Ben?” I shook her off. “Does it matter to you?” She let out a sharp, angry breath. “My boyfriend is going on a blind date. Yeah, I’d say it matters.” “Ex-boyfriend,” I corrected her. Maya’s jaw tightened. “You’re really doing this? Over a stupid Instagram post? You’re throwing away seven years because of a photo of a coworker?” “I’m not throwing it away,” I said, and to my surprise, my voice was perfectly calm. “I’m just finally realizing there’s nothing left to hold onto.” Maya stared at me, looking genuinely confused. She was brilliant, but she had a blind spot for things she didn't value. And she didn't value my feelings. Before she could speak, Matt pulled up to the curb in his beat-up truck. “Hey, Ben! Sorry I’m late, man. You ready?” He hopped out and saw Maya holding my arm. “Uh… what’s going on?” Maya suddenly let go. A strange, smug little smile played on her lips. “Oh, I see,” she said, her voice dripping with relief. “You’re ‘meeting’ Matt. I should have known.” She reached out and playfully flicked my forehead, as if I were a child who’d been caught in a lie. “I was wondering how you could possibly be over me so fast. Go have fun with your friend. Get it out of your system.” She turned and walked toward her car, humming to herself. Matt looked at me, then at her retreating back. “What the hell was that? Is she… okay?” My phone died later that afternoon. When I finally plugged it in at home that night, I had fifteen unread messages from Maya. I opened them, expecting an apology or another lecture. Instead, it was like the breakup had been erased from her memory. “Are you home yet?” “Want me to come pick you up?” “I bought those honey cakes you like. I’ll bring some back to the city for you.” “The company site crashed today. I had to fix the backend before it went viral. Your girlfriend is a genius, isn't she?” “That boba place you like has a new seasonal flavor. We’ll go when we’re back.” I scrolled up to the very top of the thread, back to the night of my birthday. I had sent her a photo of us that a colleague had taken at a Christmas party. I looked hurt in the message: “Am I really that much worse-looking than your junior? Is that why you won’t post us?” I had sent three more photos. “I’m not an ugly guy, Maya. Pick one. Post it. Let’s just be public for once.” Her reply, thirty minutes later, had been: “Don’t be insecure. It’s not a big deal.” She never tried to comfort me. She never used more words than necessary. She knew I would eventually just… deal with it. But looking at these new, "warm" messages, I realized I didn't want them anymore. I hovered over the option to Clear Chat History. My thumb trembled. Deleting seven years felt like cutting out a piece of my own chest. It took the loading circle a full minute to finish. When the screen went white, I fell back onto my pillow and finally let the tears come. The Sunday after New Year’s was always the day we drove back to the city together. Usually, I’d have to lie to my mom, tell her I was taking the train, wave goodbye at the station, and then sneak back out to meet Maya at a nearby gas station. Maya’s Audi was idling in front of my house. She had texted me the night before: “Picking you up at ten. Be ready.” She was certain I’d be there. After all, I’d spent seven years begging to be part of her world. She probably thought that by showing up at my mom’s door, she was finally "giving in" and making me happy. Maya stood at the front door, her heart racing. For the first time, she wasn't just visiting Mrs. Adler as a former student. She was here as the woman who loved her son. My mom opened the door, looking surprised. “Maya? What are you doing here?” “Mrs. Adler,” Maya said, her voice tight. “I’m here to pick up Ben.” My mom’s expression turned to one of confusion. “Oh, dear. You missed him. Ben left for the city hours ago. I just got back from dropping him off.” Maya froze. She pulled out her phone and opened our chat. No new messages. She didn't believe it. He wouldn't leave without her. “Ben, where are you?” she typed. The message sent, and then—a bright red exclamation point appeared.
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