Seven Years of Love Seven Minutes of Truth

Chapter 15
I managed to avoid seeing Aiden again until move–in day, though it wasn’t easy living next door. I’d time my coffee runs and
grocery trips for when his car wasn’t in the driveway, Started taking the long way to everywhere, just in case.
Maya sent me his Instagram post a perfectly filtered photo of him and Madison at some rooftop party, his caption announcing
they were official. I deleted the notification without opening it, but not before catching a glimpse of the likes piling up. All our
mutual friends, already accepting this new reality.
I went through my social media with surgical precision, blocking anyone connected to him. His friends, his cousins, even his little
sister who used to borrow my makeup. There was no point keeping any
windows into his life open anymore. Some doors need to stay firmly shut.
But the universe has a twisted sense of humor – we ran into them at JFK. Madison was there, of course, looking like she’d
stepped out of a travel influencer’s feed in her matching luggage set and designer sweats. Her carefully curated airport look
made my jeans and Columbia hoodie (bought before everything fell apart) feel suddenly childish.
Aiden barely managed a stiff “Hello” to my parents before storming off. He looked right through me like I was just another
stranger in the crowded terminal.
We quickly scattered in different directions, everyone pretending this wasn’t painfully awkward. No one looking back, because
looking back meant acknowledging what we’d all lost.
At the security checkpoint, I caught one last glimpse of him heading to his gate – the one for New York–bound flights. He must
have felt my gaze because he turned, just for a moment. One final cold look before he disappeared through the doors, Madison’s
hand tucked perfectly in his.
Just like that, the boy who’d been there for every major moment of my life – first day of school, braces, driver’s test, prom – was
walking toward a different future. The boy who knew all my secrets, all my fears, all my dreams. Or at least, the dreams I’d had
before I learned to dream bigger than just being his.
Our paths were finally diverging.

“Good luck with your life,” I thought silently, watching his retreating back. Some childhood stories don’t get happy endings. Some
prince charmings turn out to be just boys who never learned to see beyond
themselves.
I turned toward my own gate, ticket to San Francisco clutched in my hand. Stanford was waiting, and for the first time in my life, I
was writing my own story – no co–author needed.