Chapter 2

2.

After Elara left, I went crazy trying to find her.

The first day, I went to her office.

Her coworker said, "Elara quit yesterday. She finished her paperwork then."

I stood stunned. "Quit? She didn't tell me."

"Yeah," the coworker gave me a strange look. "She spent the whole day packing. She seemed really rushed. I thought you guys had a fight."

The second day, I went to her parents' house.

Her mother opened the door, and the moment she saw me, her expression turned icy.

"Mrs. Miller, where is Elara?" I asked.

"She's not here," her mother replied. "Connor, don't come back."

"But Elara and I―"

"You've broken up." She cut me off. "Elara told me. She said she doesn't love you anymore. Please go."

The door slammed shut. I heard the lock turn, followed by her mother letting out a heavy sigh behind the door.

I stood there for a long time.

Elara's apartment building was on the fifth floor with no elevator, and I'd climbed the stairs, breaking into a sweat.

Walking back down, my legs felt like jelly, and I had to lean on the railing every step of the way.

The third day, I went to our favorite noodle spot.

The owner saw me and asked, "Hey kid, why are you alone? Where's your girlfriend?"

"She…" I hesitated, "she had some business to attend to."

"Oh," the owner nodded. "You still want the bowl she always gets?"

"Yeah."

When the noodles arrived, I sat there alone. As I ate, tears fell into the bowl.

The owner saw, but didn't say a word. He just brought over an extra set of chopsticks and placed them across from me.

Those chopsticks didn't move until I finished.

The fourth day, I sent her a message.

"Elara, tell me why, just tell me…"

Next to the text, a red exclamation mark appeared.

She had blocked me.

I sent messages on every app, called, texted―everything blocked.

The fifth day, I took time off to search the city.

I went to the cinema where we had our first date, the supermarket we frequented, and the florist where she'd always buy a single rose.

Nothing.

It was as if she had been erased from the city.

The seventh day, I returned to our apartment to pack her things.

Her clothes, her books, her skincare products, and the pothos plant she had nurtured.

I touched each item, hoping to feel a trace of her warmth.

Her clothes still held the scent of her laundry detergent―faint, like a spring breeze.

I sat in her favorite chair, hugging her clothes, and cried until I couldn't cry anymore.

By the time I stopped burning up, the rain had ceased.

The sky cleared, the sun came out, and the apartment grew warm.

I sat by the window, watching the damp ground outside slowly dry up.

Just like her departure, it was slowly drying, too.

Only the wound remained.