"Some hearts are not broken—they were never given in the first place."
The night was quiet.
Of course it was. It was 1 a.m.
Stillness like this was rare, and I welcomed it. All the daytime noise—the honking, the shouting, the endless chatter—always grated on me. But this? The silence? I enjoyed it. It gave me space to breathe.
I spotted Julien standing in front of a closed shop. It was a familiar place—the kind that sold just about everything, run by a kind old man. But right now, my attention shifted to something else.
A cigarette. Between Julien's fingers.
I walked over.
"I never took you for a smoker, pal."
He looked at me.
His eyes—flat. Distant. Drained.
"You're here," he said quietly. Then he held the packet out toward me. "Want one?"
It seemed he'd bought the whole pack.
Smoking's not illegal once you're in college. And while I'm no chain smoker, I do light up now and then.
I took one.
"Let's sit somewhere," I said. "You can talk when you're ready."
We found a bench near the road—one of those resting spots people usually ignore unless their legs are tired.
We sat.
The city was still. Smoke curled upward from our cigarettes, dissolving into the dark sky like thoughts you didn't want to say aloud.
I didn't rush him.
He needed time.
And I could feel it in the air—whatever he had to say, it wasn't going to be light.
"Have you ever loved anyone?" Julien finally spoke.
Love, huh?
So that's where this was going.
I took a drag from the cigarette. The smoke tasted bitter tonight. "Yeah. I did."
"You did?" he echoed. "But not anymore?"
I exhaled slowly. "A lot happened."
He didn't press me. Just went quiet for a few seconds, letting the silence settle again.
Then—
"Do you know about me and Alina?"
"That you two are dating?" I replied casually.
"So you did know."
I shook my head. "It was just a guess. But it's obvious. The way you two act—anyone with half a brain could figure it out."
I looked over at him. "So, what happened? Trouble in paradise?"
Julien didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was tight, low.
"Alina flirts with other guys. Even though she's with me."
He paused. Then continued, like the words had been pent up for too long.
"I told her it bothers me. That I don't like it. But she... she doesn't stop."
Frustration laced his voice. I could feel it.
And honestly?
It made sense.
Any guy would feel the same way.
"You told her directly?" I asked.
Julien nodded. "Yeah. She just brushes it off. Laughs like I'm overreacting. And sometimes I wonder... if she even loves me at all."
He ran a hand through his hair.
"Feels like I'm just a way to pass the time."
"Don't jump to conclusions," I said, trying to stay neutral. "Talk to her properly. Face to face. You need to figure out what she really wants."
He didn't say anything after that.
Once we finished the cigarette, we took a slow stroll through the quiet streets. No destination. Just walking. Talking about our old days.
I hope Julien and Alina can figure this out.
It was almost 4 a.m. by the time I got back to my apartment.
And I had college tomorrow.
How the hell was I supposed to focus on classes?
The next day was a blur.
One class after another, grinding away at my already half-dead brain.
With barely three hours of sleep, just staying awake felt like a full-time job. My body was there, sure—but my mind? Scattered.
When I finally got back home, I didn't even have the strength to change my clothes. I collapsed onto the bed and slept like a dead man.
It was 5 p.m. when I woke up.
Still groggy, I freshened up and grabbed my phone.
No message.
She still hasn't replied?
Is this it?
Is she really... not going to talk to me again?
That one thought sat heavy in my chest.
Time passed.
Evening rolled in. The clock struck 9 p.m.
I closed the book I was reading—more like trying to read—and checked my phone again.
And there it was.
A message.
From her.
I hadn't even heard the notification—must've left my phone on silent.
Heart beating a little faster, I opened it.
"Let's just enjoy each other's company."
I stared at the screen.
And smiled. I was almost losing hope. I thought she would not message me again. That we would not be able to smile together.
What are these feelings? It's not love. But if it's not, then why do I care so much if we can talk or not?
...
Elsewhere at the same time
The room was dim, lit only by the flickering of a muted television screen. The curtains were drawn. Outside, the city kept sleeping.
Alina's voice was low—muffled laughter, hushed words.
A man's silhouette moved beside her. Broad-shouldered. Confident. His shirt was tossed over the back of a chair, hers lost somewhere on the carpet. The bed creaked softly as the rhythm of their closeness played out in waves.
From across the hall, the hotel staff passed by without a second glance. This wasn't unusual. Not here.
Inside, the air was thick. Heavy with warmth, perfume, and something else—something fleeting.
She wasn't thinking of Julien.
And the man with her didn't care to ask.
Afterward, they lay side by side, the sheets tangled around their legs, the room bathed in quiet.
The man let out a breath, still catching it.
"That was... satisfying," he said, voice rough and low.
There was a pause.
Then he glanced sideways at her, propped up on one elbow.
"Alina," he asked, "why do you even bother dating that Julien guy?"
Alina didn't answer right away.
She just smiled.
That same mysterious, knowing smile she always wore—like she had a secret she had no intention of telling.