They had gone to a party later that evening.
I was out with my friends too.
I asked how they were doing.
They sent a photo from the party.
“Not bad,” they wrote.
“Why just not bad? I want you to be really happy,” I said.
They didn’t send another message that night.
For the first time, I felt this neglected.
I knew they were at a party.
But was it really that hard to text once in a while?
Or at least say, “I’m at a party, I won’t be able to text”?
In all our long-distance communication, we used to text for hours every day.
We didn’t care where we were—we chose to focus only on each other.
That’s what I was used to.
So what had changed now?
The Norway trip, meetings, work dinners.
None of that had ever interrupted our communication.
So what was this silence?
That night, I told my friends what was going on.
There were two different opinions.
Some said, “They should’ve kept going the way they got you used to. Even at a party, they could’ve texted. Sending a message takes a few seconds.”
Others said, “Let them enjoy themselves. What’s the big deal if they don’t text for one night?”
But I just didn’t understand.
I didn’t understand seeing my message and choosing not to reply.
Because we were practically dying for each other.
The next morning, they got back to my message.
“I guess I underestimated it by saying ‘not bad’ last night. The party was actually great,” they wrote.
They didn’t ask how I was doing.
They didn’t do anything to keep the conversation going.
Something was off.
It felt like I was losing them.
Did they not want me anymore?
I was getting insanely jealous.
Was there someone there?
Were they distracted?
Feeling their interest fade was making me restless and on edge.
But I was trying not to show it.
My body started to feel warm, almost numb.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” I wrote.
“It’s so nice that you feel the same,” they replied.
“I’ll go even further. I might already be missing you,” I said.
They didn’t reply to my message about missing them.
They sent a photo with the caption, ‘Heading out for dinner.’
I was wondering if they were wearing the gift I had given them on our first date.
I asked them to send the photo again.
No reply.
It was around six in the evening.
There was no message all night, and nothing until the next afternoon.
The next day, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Is everything okay?” I wrote.
Along with the jealousy, I was also worried about them.
Five minutes later, they replied, “All good. The party yesterday was intense. We’re trying to recover.”
By now, not asking about me, not continuing the conversation—it was driving me crazy.
“I guess I’ve been forgotten on this trip. Mykonos 1 – Me 0,” I texted, half-joking.
I was trying not to show how I felt.
They saw it.
No reply.
I lay down on my bed.
I thought they didn’t want me anymore.
That it was over.
That I had lost them.
I stared at the ceiling, my mouth and body numb.
Without thinking about what would come next, without questioning it…
As if I had no choice, with numb hands, I texted them,
“I didn’t like being ignored like that.
You’re a really good person.
I hope you’re always happy.
I don’t want to talk to you anymore.
Take care of yourself.”