For those three days, I lived like a ghost. By day, I buried myself in meetings, emails, and proposals.
By night, I came home. She slept soundly beside me. And I lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling, unmoving.
On the fourth night, my phone lit up.
A message came in. [Got results. Sending photos.]
I didn’t open it right away and waited five full minutes.
My palms were damp, my fingers trembling, and then, finally, I tapped in.
The first photo appeared. It was a sunny day. She was wearing that white dress.
I knew it instantly, and I bought it for her.
We were shopping together that day. She saw it, smiled, and said she loved it. I paid without hesitation.
In the photo, she was seated at a corner café. Across from her sat a man.
They weren’t sitting too close. No hand-holding.
But her gaze had softened, melting, tender.
Exactly like the look she wore back when I first chased her.
My knuckles turned white as I clutched the phone.
I kept swiping.
They laughed and chatted like the most in-sync couple.
The last photo, under the night sky, the two of them walked into a hotel one after the other.
Neon lights at the entrance blurred across the image.