CHOOSING MYSELF
709 Words
Two days.
That’s how long the silence lasted.
It was strange at first — the kind of quiet that feels heavy, like the pause between heartbeats. Carina caught herself glancing at her phone more than she wanted to admit. Each vibration made her chest tighten with the hope it was him.
But it never was.
She tried to distract herself — long walks, long showers, extra work — but nothing stopped her mind from replaying the last night they shared. The warmth, the intensity, the way he knew exactly how to make her body surrender.
It wasn’t love.
But it had been something.
That something haunted her.
Not because it was real — but because it had felt real, even for a moment.
By the third evening, she finally stopped waiting.
She made peace with the silence. Or so she thought.
Then her phone lit up.
Dr. Adrian.
Her heart skipped a beat — ridiculous, she told herself, but still it did.
> Adrian: You disappeared.
She stared at the message for a while before another came in.
> Adrian: Should I be worried?
Adrian: Or are you just playing hard to get?
Carina let out a soft, ironic laugh. He always had a way of making everything sound like a game.
She typed, “I’ve been busy.”
Then deleted it.
Moments later, another message blinked onto her screen:
> Adrian: You know I’ll have to punish you for being quiet, right? 😉
That old teasing tone — the one that used to make her smile — now felt hollow.
There it was again: his need for control disguised as charm.
She leaned back on her couch, staring at the message until her vision blurred slightly.
He didn’t ask how she’d been.
Didn’t ask what she was feeling.
Just noticed she wasn’t available to him anymore.
And suddenly, it all clicked.
He wasn’t missing her.
He was missing the version of her that responded instantly. The one who fed his ego and mistook his attention for affection.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard again before she wrote:
> Carina: I’m okay. Just needed some space.
The reply came almost instantly.
> Adrian: Space? Since when do we do that? Don’t take too long — I still owe you that punishment.
That used to make her heart race. Tonight, it only made her sigh.
She locked her phone and placed it face down.
For once, she didn’t feel the urge to reply.
Instead, she poured herself a cup of tea — the steam rising slowly, curling into the dim light of her living room. She sat by the window, watching the city lights blink far below.
Somewhere out there, he was probably charming someone else — the same smile, the same lines, the same easy confidence.
And for the first time, she didn’t feel jealous. She felt free.
She thought back to every moment she’d waited for him to call, every plan she’d imagined that never happened, every small piece of herself she’d given away thinking it would make him stay.
It was never about him, she realized.
It was about her — wanting to feel wanted, mistaking temporary passion for connection.
She stood, walked to her mirror, and looked at herself.
No makeup, hair loose, eyes tired but steady.
> “You’re still here,” she whispered. “You still matter.”
That night, she opened her journal again — the one filled with pages about him — and began to write:
> He noticed my silence, but not my soul.
He missed my replies, not my presence.
And that’s how I finally knew — it was never love. It was just habit.
When she finished, she closed the book and placed it gently on her bedside table.
Her phone buzzed again — his name flashing across the screen.
This time, she didn’t even look.
She turned off the lights, slid under her sheets, and smiled faintly into the darkness.
For once, the silence wasn’t empty.
It was peaceful.
Because this time, it wasn’t him choosing when to call.
It was her choosing when to stop answering.
And somewhere deep down, Carina knew — she’d just taken the first step toward the woman she was meant to become.
- Writer
