Waiting for the Sun to Rise

When we broke up, I threw all his things out.

Including my love to him.

Then I vented to my friends, drank too much, and wrote embarrassing posts.

I did everything crazy you could think of.

To avoid him, I made excuses not to attend a friend's wedding.

The next day, he asked me, "Do you really not want to see me?"

"Yes."

"But I miss you so much."

1.

A year and a half after the breakup, I tried my best to avoid any chance of running into Chris Flynn.

Even though our homes were just a street apart, we never crossed paths during this period.

I even skipped the wedding of our mutual friends.

At the post-wedding reception, I greeted friends with a bright smile, only to look up and see him.

He stood there, youthful and dashing in his suit.

Rachael Brigg sat beside him, looking like a perfect match.

"I had no choice but to invite him, " my friend Beryl Oscar whispered, clutching my hand tightly, her face pale. "I didn't expect her to come too."

Everyone at the table knew Chris and I had been together.

They were all watching us like it was a show.

I sat upright, clinking glasses with those around me, and after a few bottles, I felt a bit tipsy.

Rachael maneuvered through the crowd, raising a beer in front of me.

"Long time no see. Why doesn't anyone drink with you?"

She then twirled her hair, feigning realization.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot, you got dumped ages ago."

2.

Speaking of drinking, Chris used to shield me from alcohol at every meal.

Ignoring the teasing around him, he'd down a glass, blocking the verbal jabs from others.

Then he'd pull me into his arms, proudly declaring, "I've been single for so long, finally got someone wonderful. Please don't make it hard for her."

He happily accepted the nickname "model boyfriend."

He always served me with different kinds of dishes during the meals.

Since the breakup, I'd picked up a drinking habit.

Now, I needed at least five bottles to feel tipsy.

"Just work socializing, my drinking capacity has improved, " I said, downing my drink and signaling Rachael with my eyes, "Are you just going to sit there? You weren't pretending before, were you?" she said boldly. "It's all just an act. After all, I am not an alcoholic"

Even a fool could see she was targeting me, but it was a friend's wedding banquet, and I was too tired to argue.

Ignoring her, I focused on the conversation around me.

Seeing my indifference, Rachael placed a plate of pastries in front of me, indulging herself.

"Why do you turn so thin? Did something upset you?"

Her voice wasn't loud, but it was enough to embarrass me.

My friend quickly intervened, glaring at Rachael and gripping my hand tightly.

That mango cake was glaringly obvious.

After a few seconds, I met those probing eyes, my voice turning hoarse and obscure.

"I've never liked sweets."

Chris's face turned dark with anger, and I took the opportunity to bid farewell to my friends.

This meal was more nerve-wracking than a work presentation.