Page 159 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

Nothing.

And I told myself I was fine. That maybe we both just needed space. That maybe he was waiting too. That maybe this was what two people did after a fight: step back, breathe, come back calmer.

I let myself believe that.

Until the third night.

I was lying in bed, lights off, the room dim except for the soft glow of my phone resting beside me.

I wasn’t doing anything with it. But I kept waking the screen, checking, just in case his name would finally appear.

Nothing came.

So I picked it up and opened Instagram.

I scrolled. Paused. Scrolled again.

And then… there he was.

Victor.

He posted a story.

I stared at that small circle for a second longer than I needed to, like my brain was trying to catch up to what my eyes had already seen.

Then I tapped.

It opened to a dimly lit venue—some kind of event I didn’t know about. Music in the background, low but alive. People dressed up, moving, talking, laughing like the night had somewhere to go.

And then the camera shifted.

Him.

Standing with a drink in his hand, talking to someone off-frame. Relaxed. Composed. Effortless in the way he always was.

He looked good.

Not just okay.

Good.

Like nothing had happened.

Like the last three days hadn’t existed at all.

I didn’t realize I had stopped breathing until the story peeled on to the next person.

But I swiped it back and watched it again.

Same laugh. Same posture. Same easy way he carried himself like the world hadn’t tilted even just a little.

I exited.

Then, a second later, I opened it again—just to make sure I didn’t miss anything: a crack in his expression, a hint of sadness in his eyes, fakeness in his smile… anything that said he felt it too.

Nothing.

He looked exactly the same.