Our story is the type of typical love story that doesn't have much to tell. Milk came from a wealthy family, the kind with old money and inherited estates, while I was the poor girl from the other side of town who wanted nothing more than her. But I was a fool for not realizing what I had sooner.
We fought, we loved, and that was the rhythm of our relationship. Our personalities were as different as night and day: she was meticulous, everything in her life neatly arranged and calculated, while I was impulsive, driven by emotion, often short-tempered and aggressive.
There were times when I felt like she was being controlling, like she was trying to mold me into something I wasn't. Her demands felt suffocating, but deep down, I couldn't shake the gnawing thought that maybe I needed the guidance she was offering. Milk knew I was always careless—whether it was about my work, my words, or my heart—but I would never admit it to her or even to myself.
One evening, after another argument had simmered down, Milk spoke softly, her voice as steady and composed as always, "I apologize for being so boring for you, Love, but believe me, all I want is the best for you—for us."
Her words hung in the air between us, heavy with sincerity. I looked at her, my expression indifferent, though inside, a storm was raging. I was too tired to argue anymore, too exhausted by the constant push and pull between us.
She loves me—of that, I'm sure—but I don't know why I feel like this isn't the love story I had always dreamed of. Where was the passion, the excitement that used to make my heart race? It's not like it was when we first started our relationship. Back then, everything was thrilling and new. Now, it felt like we were just going through the motions.
She doesn't deserve me. Clearly.
Our fifth anniversary came and went like a fleeting shadow. Milk tried her best to make it special—reservations at an upscale restaurant, a thoughtful gift, even a handwritten letter, but I ended up ruining the evening. I don't even know how it happened; one moment, we were laughing over dinner, and the next, I was lashing out at her over something trivial.
I don't know why I did it. I don't even understand myself sometimes. Why do I always end up disappointing her?
A few days later, we were out walking, a rare moment of peace between us. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the city, and for a while, we walked in silence, just enjoying each other's company. But then it happened.
"Ouch!" I cried out as I stepped on a jagged rock hidden in the dirt path. Pain shot up my leg, sharp and unexpected.
Milk's reaction was immediate, her concern clear in her eyes. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice filled with worry. I tried to shrug it off, not wanting to make a big deal out of it, but as soon as I tried to put weight on my left foot, the pain intensified, nearly bringing tears to my eyes.
Without a second thought, Milk bent down and scooped me up into her arms, lifting me effortlessly. My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, I felt my heart flutter—just like it used to when we first fell in love. There was something about the way she held me, so protective and strong, that made me feel safe in a way I hadn't felt in a long time.
But then, as she carried me, I noticed one of my doll shoes had slipped off and was lying on the path behind us. I frowned, the small inconvenience bringing me back to reality. "Milk, my doll shoe..."
"Forget it, Love," she said, her voice steady as she kept walking with me in her arms. "I'll buy you a new pair tomorrow morning."
I looked at her, feeling a mix of frustration and something deeper that I couldn't quite name. "That was my favorite pair!" I protested, my voice tinged with disappointment. But she didn't respond. Instead, she just kept walking, her grip on me firm and unwavering. I let out a heavy sigh, feeling the tension between us tighten like a noose.
The words came out before I could stop them, words I wasn't even sure I meant. "I'm no longer happy, Milk," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, but it carried all the weight of my emotions. "I feel suffocated when I'm with you. You deserve more. Let's break up."
The silence that followed was deafening. Milk didn't say anything, didn't even pause in her stride. She just kept walking, her expression unreadable, but I could feel the shift in the air between us, the unspoken pain that lingered in the space where my words had landed.
When we finally reached home, she gently set me down on my feet. I wobbled slightly, still feeling the sting in my foot, but my attention was on her face. It was a face I hadn't truly looked at in a long time, and now, standing there in the fading light, I realized just how much I had missed her.
She smiled at me, a small, sad smile that made my heart ache. "You know that I love you, right?"
Her question caught me off guard, and all I could do was nod. I couldn't bring myself to say anything more. She turned her back on me then and walked away, leaving me standing there, feeling more lost and empty than ever before.
It had been a long, exhausting day, and as I lay in bed that night, guilt and anxiety gnawed at me like hungry wolves. I tossed and turned, my mind replaying our conversation, wondering if I had made a terrible mistake. When I finally drifted off to sleep, it was restless and filled with uneasy dreams.
The next morning, I woke up with a heavy heart, a sense of dread settling in my chest. I reached for my phone, expecting to see a message from Milk, a good morning text like she always sent. But the screen was blank. For the first time in years, there was no reassuring message to start my day, no small token of her love.
The atmosphere at school felt cold and unfamiliar. Students kept glancing at me, their expressions curious, some even pitying, though I couldn't understand why. Everything felt off, like I was walking through a dream where nothing made sense.
Then my phone rang, the sudden sound startling me out of my thoughts. I looked at the screen, seeing Milk's name, and for a moment, relief washed over me. But when I answered, it wasn't her voice that greeted me.
It was her mother.
Her voice trembled as she spoke, each word like a dagger to my heart. "Love, Milk... Milk passed away last night. I was told that she was robbed and attacked by an unknown gang and it was near your neighbourhood, I called because I wanted to give you your shoe, she was holding it."
The world around me shattered in that instant. The air left my lungs, and everything went silent, like the universe itself had stopped. My heart, once conflicted and confused, now felt like it had been ripped out of my chest, leaving behind a gaping, hollow void.
Tears blurred my vision as the reality of her words sank in. Milk was gone. The one person who had loved me unconditionally, who had stood by me through everything, was gone—taken from me in a senseless act of violence. And all I could think about was how our last conversation had ended, the cruel irony of the words I had spoken to her.
Five years from now, ten years from now, I know that Milk will always be the one and only love of my life. No one will ever take her place, and the memory of what we had—what I lost—will haunt me forever.
