loml (Mikhaiah)

In Between Times: Last Kiss (Aiah's POV) Part 1

Aiah. Half a world away. 3 months after the breakup

I am sitting on this cold, lifeless floor, the silence around me deafening, my chest heaving as if every breath I take is a battle I'm destined to lose. The dam I built—strong, unyielding, a fortress against the waves of grief—has shattered, leaving me exposed, vulnerable, drowning in the very emotions I swore I could suppress. Every inch of me is screaming, every fiber of my being feels like it's unraveling, one agonizing thread at a time. 

I have never felt this lost before. This kind of loneliness—this hollow, aching, soul-crushing void—is something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I am half the world away, surrounded by strangers who don't know me, who don't understand the battles raging inside my chest. There is no family waiting for me with open arms, no home to return to where I can feel safe. There's no fur baby to greet me at the door, wagging its tail, reminding me that love can be simple and unconditional. 

And worst of all, Mikha, there's no you. No one who truly knows me the way you did, who could see past my masks, who could hear my silence and understand the words I couldn't say.

How are you? Do you even think of me? Or has the thought of me disappeared like a fading shadow in the sunlight? 

I left because I thought I had to. I thought moving away, creating distance, was the only way to save myself—to stop myself from running back to you, from clinging to a love that might have already slipped through my fingers. I wanted to give you room to grow, to live your life without the weight of my love holding you back. And I wanted to salvage the last shred of dignity I had, to not beg for you to stay when I knew I couldn't make you happy. 

So I made a choice—a choice to turn my back on everything I wanted and force myself to forget. I trained my mind to resist the urge to look at your pictures, to scroll through your socials, to ask our friends about how you were doing. I told myself that if I kept moving, kept distracting myself, kept building walls around my heart, I'd eventually stop feeling the unbearable pull of your absence. 

But Mikha, I was wrong. So devastatingly wrong. I can't run from you. I can't distract myself enough to erase the echo of your laugh or the warmth of your touch. I can't unlearn the way your name feels like home, even now. 

And now, here I am—crumbling. Every ounce of strength I thought I had, every bit of resolve I clung to, has abandoned me. I feel like a soldier on the battlefield, standing alone amidst the ruins of everything I once fought for. Even soldiers, no matter how strong, reach their breaking point. And Mikha, this is mine. This is me, broken, defeated, and longing for something I can't have. Longing for you.

I still remember the look on your face
Lit through the darkness at 1:58

Your face is the kind that lingers—engraved into memory, refusing to fade. It's not a beauty that strikes like lightning, bold and blinding. No, it's the kind that seeps quietly into the soul, a beauty so timeless and nostalgic that it feels as though it belongs in another era. I would often catch myself marveling, wondering how I got so lucky.

How did I end up being loved by someone like you? How did I deserve the privilege of sleeping next to you, of waking up to the sight of you each morning?

Your red hair always caught the light in the most magical way, glowing like fire when the sun crept through the curtains in the morning or soft and rich under the golden glow of the bedside lamp at night. Your brows framed your face with such perfection, and your pink lips held a smile that could silence the chaos in my heart. There were moments when I couldn't stop myself from staring, drinking in every detail of you, like I needed to commit you to memory—just in case.