Chapter 8 – Walking Away

There was no dramatic ending. No final fight. No tears soaking pillows or doors slamming in the background.

There was just a quiet kind of knowing.

A softness in my chest that whispered, This isn’t where you belong anymore.

That’s the thing about healing — it doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes it arrives silently, like a breeze. You’re standing in the middle of your old life, the old feelings knocking gently at your door, and you realize… they don’t move you the way they used to.

That’s what it felt like after I left his apartment that night.

I didn’t text him when I got home.

He didn’t call.

There was no closure conversation. No “let’s talk later.”

Just… silence.

But this time, the silence didn’t hurt.

It felt safe.

Walking away didn’t mean I didn’t love him anymore.

It meant I finally loved myself more.

It wasn’t an act of revenge.

It wasn’t about proving anything.

It was just time.

Time to close the door on a chapter that had rewritten me in ways I never consented to.

Time to stop begging for someone to choose me when I was always worthy of being chosen.

Time to stop showing up for someone who only missed me when I was gone.

I spent the following days alone — but not lonely.

I went to my favorite café by myself.

I sat in the sun with a book and didn’t check my phone.

I cooked dinner for one and played soft music in the background.

I felt peace in the space he used to fill with noise.

And in those quiet moments, I realized something:

He hadn’t changed.

But I had.

He was still chasing highs — through parties, girls, surface-level attention.

Still posting vague stories, hoping I’d watch.

Still pretending to be okay with losing me, even though I knew part of him wasn’t.

But me?

I was no longer chasing chaos.

I was no longer obsessed with being chosen by someone who didn’t even know how to love himself, let alone me.

I was no longer willing to trade my peace for the thrill of being “wanted.”

Because I’d finally learned — being wanted is not the same as being loved.

And being loved is not the same as being safe.

It’s funny how you can mourn a person who’s still alive.

Still breathing. Still out there.

But you realise… the version of them you loved is long gone.

Or maybe never existed.

I used to think we were soulmates.

Now, I think we were mirrors — reflecting back the parts of ourselves we needed to heal.

He showed me where I lacked boundaries.

Where I didn’t feel enough.

Where I still believed I had to earn love through pain and performance.

But I’m not that girl anymore

The final goodbye didn’t come through words.

It came through peace.

It came the day I woke up and didn’t think about him first.

The day I ran into one of his friends and didn’t feel that sinking twist in my stomach.

The day I looked in the mirror and no longer saw someone broken.

I saw someone building.

Becoming.

Beginning again.

Walking away didn’t feel like failure.

It felt like freedom.

The kind of freedom that comes when you finally stop gripping something that was never meant to stay.

When you realise that the love you wanted from them… you can give to yourself.

And that’s exactly what I started doing.

I didn’t need revenge.

I didn’t need to prove that I had moved on.

My healing was silent.

And that was enough.

Because sometimes the strongest thing you’ll ever do…

Is nothing.

No reply.

No return.

No relapsing into old patterns.

Just walking away.

Quietly.

Softly.

Completely.