Five days. That was how long the silence lasted after I slammed his apartment door last week.
Five days that felt like five centuries. I stared at my phone screen until my vision blurred. I hoped for just one notification. Maybe an "I'm sorry," a "I miss you," or even a simple "Hey."" But the screen remained black, cold, and mute.
I went through my routine like a robot running on low battery. I drove to campus, sat in class listening to the lecturer drone on about Monetary Policy, but my brain was a void. My socialite friends invited me to brunch in Senopati; I declined. My mother asked me to accompany her for a dress fitting for her charity gala; I claimed a migraine. I even flunked a Microeconomics quiz. I couldn’t tell the supply curve from the c***k in the wall I stared at for an hou
