A wind from my drafty window crawls over my skin like a human touch. The room is dim and soundless. It's already midnight, and I should be asleep by now. I gaze up at the ceiling, an undeniable sense of unease settling over me. It's because of the wedding invitation Rachel gave me this afternoon at the hospital—an invitation to the wedding of my ex-boyfriend, whom I lost contact with many years ago.

A flood of questions rushes through my mind.

"Why did he send me an invitation?"

"How did he know where I work?"

It's been thirteen years since he left this city.

"Good for him," I utter.

An imbalance of opposing forces stirs within me, an inexplicable feeling I struggle to describe. My mind is locked in a tug-of-war: "Should I go or not?"  Yet, if I'm honest, a part of me wants to see him.

After all these years, I still want to see him—to know what he looks like now, how he's doing, how his career has turned out.

But despite everything, I can't forget what he did to me. He has no idea how I clawed my way up from the grave he left me in, just to survive the pain. A pain so deep that I'd rather feel it physically than suffer heartbreak that tears at my soul from the inside out.

It may sound strange, but... I miss him.

I miss his hazel eyes, my greatest weakness once, his sweet smile, his laughter, his presence.

A pang of sorrow rises in me, but I have to conquer it. Thirteen years have passed, I shouldn't allow myself to dwell on this.

He is getting married next week.

I close my eyes, trying to silence the noise in my head, but it won't stop.

I slip in my AirPods and play a Gracie Abrams song, but it does nothing to quiet the storm.

I exhale heavily, remove my AirPods, and sit up. 

I reach for the invitation lying on the wooden desk next to my mattress. The design is lovely. The card's margins are decorated with pink blossoms, and their names and wedding details are elegantly penned.

Would I ever have an invitation like this?

One where my name and my future husband are written together?

Where I see the radiant smiles of my loved ones as they celebrate with me?

I pick up my phone and dial Rachel. Thankfully, she answers.

"Rach, I can't sleep. Something's bothering me," I sigh. She can hear the weariness in my breath.

"Wait, why? Don't tell me... is this about the invitation?" she asks suspiciously, her tone turning hyper.

A second of silence passes before she continues, "I knew it. You ... still love him?"

"That's why you've been single all these years because you're still into him, right?" she adds.

"Stop Rach, It's been thirteen years since he left me, and I haven't thought about him in years. So, I guess I'm over him," I insist.

"Then why is it disturbing your peace?" she counters.

"I don't know it just that—"

Rachel is right.

If my feelings for Axel were truly gone, then why does this wedding feel like a tornado in my mind?

"Maybe I shouldn't go. How could he? Where does he get the nerve—after leaving me and breaking me all those years ago? Does he really think I've forgotten? That I can just forgive him and casually show up at his wedding? This is absurd!" I said, my voice rising with frustration.

"Jean, think of this wedding as closure. Maybe seeing him will bring your heart the peace it needs, helping you forgive and move forward. I'm not invalidating your feelings but I just want you to consider the positive side of this."

"Rach, I hate this feeling. I haven't thought about him in ages, I swear to God. I'm living the life I dreamed of. I'm a surgeon, happily embracing my simple life. So why am I letting this affect me?" I vented, my voice shaking.

"You think you've forgotten him, but the truth is, he's still there tucked away in a quiet corner of your heart, untouched and still loved. He was your first love, after all. I totally understand where you're coming from."

Rachel's words were comforting; she understood me far better than I understood myself. I don't know why I can't be honest with myself. Am I upset because he's back, and it brings up all the pain he caused me? Or am I jealous because he's marrying someone else?

__________________________

Axel was my first love. Our relationship was the happiest time of my life.

I met him when I was eighteen, never realizing I would spend the rest of my life trying to get over him.

He was everything I ever dreamed of in a person—gentle yet strong, charming yet humble, kind yet playful. He made me laugh until my stomach hurt, held me when I cried, and listened to me like my thoughts were the most important thing in the world. 

He wasn't just my boyfriend, he was my safe place, my human diary, my anchor when life felt too heavy.

Whenever the world felt like too much from school, home, life—I ran to him. And he never turned me away. Never judged me. He just listened, held me, and made me believe that as long as we had each other, everything would be okay.

He was a ray of sunshine in my life.

In my darkest moments, when I felt like I was drowning, he was the air that I breathe. He made me feel alive in ways I never thought possible.

We were untouchable. Or at least, I thought we were.

Back then, we didn't just love each other, we burned for each other. We were full of dreams, and love, convinced that nothing and no one could break us.

But I was wrong.

After my call with Rachel, I told her we should get some sleep. I lie down, wrap myself in my blanket, and close my eyes.

But then, one more memory flashes in my mind—the last time I saw him, the last time we spoke, and the last time I tasted his goodbye kiss.

"Why do you have to leave the city?" My voice cracks as I try to beg him to stay.

"I thought we'd find jobs together. Live the life we dreamed of. Do things that make us happy. What about our plans? What about... us?"

He can see the tears threatening to fall from my eyes.

"Jean, this isn't my decision. I don't want to leave this city, especially not without you. God knows that." He grips my hands, and I see the wretchedness in his eyes. Maybe it's the longing to stay, or maybe it's the fear of what could happen next.

"Then find a way!" My voice rises as tears spill down my cheeks. I feel selfish and guilty for being angry but after all, it's his family's decision to move, not his.

"What will happen to us? To this relationship?" My voice softens, but my anxiety remains.

"We have cell phones, we can call every day. There's Facebook, we can share pictures and updates there. We won't lose touch. I won't let that happen." He touches my face, his warmth soothing me. His eyes hold nothing but truth and affection.

"My parents want me to enlist in the military, but I promise, after training, I will come back here. I will come back to you." His words are filled with sincerity, but also a quiet sadness.

"How many months will that take?" I ask, feeling the weight of his unspoken emotions, as if he's about to break down.

"Dad said, it could take a year."

The words hit me like a blow, as if my world was being sliced in two.

"Just think of it this way, I'm doing this not just for myself, but for you, for our future," he said, gently holding my face. His warm hands, that touch—how could I endure not feeling it again?

"I'll say it again: I will come back here. I will come back to you, okay?"

"I PROMISED."  Then he kissed me. 

This kiss was different—it tasted like a bitter goodbye, yet still, it felt like home. When his lips met mine, nothing else in the world could make me feel so complete. In his kiss, I felt loved, and now he was leaving. Would I ever taste that feeling again?