Ethan Lee >o<
3
0Lee Heeseung was the kind of boyfriend anyone would feel lucky to have. He was gentle, patient, and thoughtful in ways that felt effortless. He remembered the smallest details, like favorite snacks during exams or the exact way stress showed on a tired face. He encouraged dreams, celebrated little victories, and made even ordinary days feel special. He was hardworking in college, balancing his studies and passion with quiet determination. He believed in commitment and loved steadily, not loudly.
His only flaw was that he kept his worries to himself. When he felt overwhelmed, he withdrew instead of opening up. He thought he was protecting the relationship by handling everything alone, but sometimes silence creates more distance than problems ever could.
Three years together felt like growing up side by side. From senior high memories to college deadlines, they built routines around each other. Late-night study calls, shared playlists, and campus walks became part of their normal. On their third anniversary, he promised that after graduation, he would propose. It wasn’t dramatic, just sincere and certain. That promise became something quietly treasured.
As college became harder, responsibilities piled up. He grew busier and more tired. Messages became shorter. Calls became less frequent. He insisted everything was fine, just stress, just pressure. Trust made it easy to believe him.
Then Claire entered his life. She was confident and always around because of projects and rehearsals. What started as simple teamwork slowly turned into emotional closeness. She was there during his stressed moments, listening when he chose not to share at home. The gap that stress created slowly widened.
By graduation, the promise no longer felt real. Instead of a proposal, there was an ending shaped by distance and unspoken feelings. Claire didn’t steal him overnight; silence did. Three years became memories, proving that love doesn’t always end with anger — sometimes it fades quietly
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