He went west the next day—to bright lights and red carpets and dreams so big they barely fit inside movie screens. And I stayed. Quietly. Hollowed out. Pretending I hadn’t just let go of the only real thing I’d ever felt. People said I’d move on. That I was young, that I’d fall in love again. But I knew better. What we had…that kind of love didn’t come around twice. And I was the one who’d let it go. I told myself it was for the best.
