“Swipe Right, Left Hanging, Came Back Running”

The fear I Can’t Escape

Days passed.

The silence that once consumed me had been replaced by messages, by calls, by the sound of his voice reaching across the distance.

It should have been enough to put me at ease.

But it wasn’t.

Because a new fear had settled in my chest, suffocating me from the inside out.

I sat on my bed, knees pulled up to my chest, my fingers gripping my phone tightly. My stomach twisted, a sickening weight pressing down on me.

My period was late.

A day at first. Then two. Then five.

I tried to brush it off, convincing myself that it was just stress, that my body was just adjusting. But as each day passed with no sign of it, my mind spiraled deeper into a pit of fear.

What if I was pregnant?

The thought alone sent a shiver down my spine.

No. I can’t be. I won’t be.

I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t be ready.

I had plans, dreams—things I still wanted to do, places I still wanted to go. I wasn’t in the right place, the right mindset, the right anything to bring a child into this world.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as my breathing grew uneven.

Should I tell him?

Should I keep it to myself?

I didn’t know what to do.

My hands trembled as I stared at my phone, his last message glowing on the screen. He had asked about my day, about how I was feeling, about when we could call again.

So normal. So casual.

He didn’t know that I was sitting here, paralyzed by the weight of a possibility I wasn’t ready to face.

I closed my eyes, trying to steady my thoughts, but they kept colliding into one another.

Would he be happy? Would he be scared?

Would he leave?

That last thought shattered me the most.

I bit my lip, forcing back the lump in my throat.

I needed to know for sure before I did anything. Before I said anything.

I needed to breathe. To think.

But how could I, when the fear was consuming me whole?

Ten days of waiting. Ten days of fear clawing at my chest. Ten days of silently pleading for something—anything—to end this nightmare.

I had never prayed this hard before. Never found myself counting the days so desperately, waiting for a sign that I wasn’t about to lose everything I had planned for myself.

But nothing came.

And I knew—I couldn't keep this to myself anymore.

He had to know.

At least then, I wouldn’t have to carry this burden alone. At least then, he could say something, anything, to ease the panic consuming me.

Maybe he would know what to say. Maybe he had better words than the ones running through my head like a broken record.

Maybe… he would calm me down.

That’s what I hoped.

That’s what I needed.

So I called him.

The call started like any other.

“Hey, baby,” he said, his voice soft, familiar, comforting.

And for a moment, just a brief, fleeting moment, I let myself sink into it—into him, into us.

I smiled, curling into my pillow as I held the phone close to my ear. “Hey… I miss you.”

“I miss you more,” he replied, and I could almost see the way he would have smirked, the way his eyes would have softened if he were here with me instead of miles away. “These days feel longer without you.”

I laughed lightly, feeling my heart swell. “Fifteen days together and you got spoiled, huh?”

“Of course,” he chuckled. “Who else is going to annoy me every day? Who else is going to steal my hoodie and make me carry their bag?”

I rolled my eyes playfully. “You like carrying my bag.”

“I do,” he admitted, voice dropping into something softer. “And I like everything about you.”

Warmth spread through my chest, and for a second, all the fears, all the anxieties I had been drowning in for days seemed to blur into the background.

I wanted to stay in this moment.

I wanted to just hold on to this version of us—where we were happy, where the distance didn’t matter, where the only thing we had to worry about was missing each other.

But reality was knocking at the door of my mind.

And I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

I took a shaky breath, my fingers tightening around my phone. My heartbeat pounded in my ears.

“Sam…” I hesitated, my voice suddenly small.

“Hmm?”

I closed my eyes, willing the words to come out.

“My period is delayed.”

The warmth in my chest vanished.

The teasing, the laughter, the playfulness—all of it disappeared in an instant.

The silence on the other end stretched, growing heavier with each passing second.

I could feel my pulse in my throat, my stomach twisting into painful knots.

I waited.

Maybe he was just shocked. Maybe he was just taking it in.

Then, finally—

“I’m not ready.”

Three words.

Three words that crushed every last bit of hope inside me.

That was it?

No questions. No concern. No we’ll figure this out together.

Just that.

Like I was the only one in this. Like this was my burden alone to carry.

I blinked rapidly, my vision blurring as a lump formed in my throat.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t ready either. That I was terrified. That I had spent the last ten days waking up in panic, praying, hoping, begging for things to be okay.

But the words never came.

All I could do was let out a quiet, shaky breath.

“I see.”

My voice barely sounded like my own.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to hold back the tears, forcing myself to stay strong, even as my heart shattered into a million unspoken pieces.

I had thought—no, I had hoped—that he would say something to ease my fears. That he would tell me we were in this together.

Instead, I felt more alone than ever.

And before I could let him hear the way my voice was breaking, before I could let myself fall apart completely—

I ended the call.

I told myself I wouldn’t expect.

I told myself that I wouldn’t wait for his call, wouldn’t stare at my phone, hoping for a message—just something—to tell me that I wasn’t alone in this.

But when the clock struck midnight and my screen remained blank, the weight of reality settled in.

He wasn’t going to call.

He wasn’t going to text.

And no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, no matter how many times I whispered, He’s just busy… He just needs time…, the silence between us spoke louder than any words ever could.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palm as I forced myself not to text him.

If I was pregnant, I’d raise this baby on my own.

I could do it.

I had to do it.

But a part of me—a foolish, desperate part—was still hoping that I wasn’t.

Days passed.

Still no message. No call.

The waiting turned into torture, each second stretching endlessly as my mind spiraled with thoughts I couldn’t silence.

Finally, I gave in.

I sent him a message.

“Hey, I hope you’re okay.”

Delivered.

No reply.

I tried again.

“Sam, I just… I just want to talk.”

Nothing.

I called him.

Once. Twice. Five times.

Each time, the ringing filled my ears, only to end with an emptiness that shattered me all over again.

He was avoiding me.

I laughed bitterly, wiping away a stray tear. What did I expect?

I tried to manipulate my feelings, to force myself into believing he was just busy.

But even as I distracted myself with work, with errands, with anything that could keep my mind occupied, I always came back to the same thought—

He left me.

—

Time didn’t stop, even when my world felt like it had.

It was now May.

The days blurred together, my heart heavy with two kinds of fears—one for the possible life growing inside me, and another for the life I had worked so hard to build.

The licensure exam results were coming out soon.

The weight of expectations crushed my chest—my parents, my siblings, the people who trusted me, the ones who believed in me. I couldn’t fail them. I couldn’t.

But I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.

Every night, I prayed.

For my results.

For my future.

For the uncertainty inside me.

For him.

I just wanted peace. Even for a moment.

So, I made a decision—I applied for a call center job.

Maybe if I kept myself busy enough, I wouldn’t have time to fall apart.

—

That’s how I met Ysa.

A college batchmate turned friend, she was kind, warm, and full of life—the type of person who could brighten a room just by being in it.

And for the first time in weeks, I felt a little less alone.

We talked, we laughed, we worked.

And in the midst of it all, I barely noticed the days passing.

Until May 19.

I froze.

May 18 in the U.S.

His birthday.

I stared at my phone, my thumb hovering over our chat.

Would he notice if I greeted him?

Would he even care?

I swallowed the lump in my throat and locked my phone, shoving it into my bag.

Not now. I have more important things to focus on.

Across the room, my friend Jessa was frantically refreshing the PRC website, her excitement palpable.

The licensure exam results were finally out.

And then—

A scream.

A joyful, tear-filled scream.

“I PASSED!”

I watched as she broke down, her hands shaking as she clutched her phone.

Tears welled up in my eyes—not just for her, but for everything this moment meant.

I reached for my phone, my hands trembling as I tried to access the site.

Loading… Loading…

Nothing.

The system crashed.

My breath hitched. My emotions were everywhere—fear, hope, desperation.

I turned to Ysa, my heartbeat loud in my ears.

“Check for me,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

She nodded, typing quickly.

A moment passed.

Then another.

And then—

She looked at me.

I knew.

Before she even said a word.

I knew.

“Mads… I don’t see your name.”

The world stopped.

Everything went silent.

The air felt too thick, too heavy to breathe.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

No.

No, no, no.

This wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real.

I had to see it myself.

I grabbed my phone, refreshing the page over and over again, my fingers shaking so hard I could barely type.

But every time the page reloaded, my name was still missing.

I failed.

I failed.

A choked sob escaped my lips as the weight of everything crashed down on me all at once.

Sam was gone.

My future was uncertain.

And now… this.

I buried my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking as silent cries tore through me.

I had lost everything.