Todos os capítulos de Pieces of Me He Never Protected: Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

If love had a warning sound, mine never made noise.It came quietly. Soft. Sweet. Disguised as care.We were both students, same school, same stress, same dreams, same routine. He was the one I walked with after lectures, the one who saved seats for me in class, the one everybody already knew as “her boyfriend.” Being with him felt normal. Safe. Like something I didn’t have to question.So I didn’t.Not at first.He used to text me every morning. Ask if I’d eaten. Complain about lecturers. Laugh about nothing. Those little things wrapped around my heart without permission. I started seeing him in my future before I even noticed it.Then small things began changing.He started keeping his phone closer.Replies came late.Smiles became careful.I noticed, but I hated confrontation. I hated asking questions that might open doors I wasn’t ready to walk through. So instead of speaking, I pretended.That day, we were in his room off campus, reading for a test that neither of us was really f

After his apology, things looked normal.At least on the outside.He still walked me to class.Still called me at night.Still used the same pet names like nothing had cracked between us.But something had.And it wasn’t loud.It was the way I now paused before replying his texts.The way I listened instead of rushing to explain myself.The way my heart stopped running ahead of him.Before, love made me careless.Now, love made me observant.He started acting sweeter.Too sweet.He checked on me more. Bought snacks I didn’t ask for. Held my hand longer in public, like he was trying to convince the world — and maybe himself — that we were fine.“You see?” he said one evening. “Everything is okay now.”I nodded.But okay felt different when trust was no longer complete.Sometimes, while he talked, I watched his eyes instead of listening to his words. I noticed how they shifted when his phone buzzed. How his smile froze for half a second before he reached for it. How he always stepped as

After the messages, I stopped pretending properly.Not dramatically. Not with tears or yelling. Just quietly.Josh still came around. Still called me “baby.” Still kissed my forehead like nothing had happened. But I noticed how my body reacted differently now. Before, his touch felt like home. Now, it felt like a question I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer.The first afternoon after the discovery, we sat at the small café near campus. Students passed, laughing, rushing to lectures, their lives light and loud. I sat quietly, stirring my iced coffee more out of habit than thirst. Every sound seemed magnified in my mind—the scraping of chairs, the click of the coffee machine, the faint humming from the radio in the corner. My chest ached with a strange mix of anger and disbelief, and yet, I forced myself to breathe normally.“You’re quiet again,” he said, sliding onto the bench beside me. His voice sounded casual, but I caught the slight tension in it.“I’m listening,” I replied softly, lo

We didn’t speak properly for two days.Josh sent texts. Called. Apologized in short voice notes and scattered emojis. But I needed quiet more than noise. More than explanations that always sounded rehearsed.On the third day, he found me after lectures. The campus was quieter than usual; the sun dipped low behind the faculty buildings, casting long shadows across the pavement. He approached slowly, hands in his pockets, as though measuring the distance I had created.“Can we talk?” he asked, voice cautious.I nodded.We sat beneath the large mango tree where we had shared our first careless laughs together. The same tree where I had once trusted everything about him without hesitation. The world around us seemed alive, yet distant, as if it had paused to watch our fragile exchange.“I messed up,” he said softly, eyes fixed on the ground. “But I don’t want to lose you.”I stared at the dusty pavement, tracing cracks with my shoe tip. “Then stop multiplying yourself,” I whispered.He lo

Josh noticed the change before anyone else did.It wasn’t in my texts. It wasn’t in my classes. It was in the way I walked. The way I held my books. The way I smiled softly but didn’t rush to meet his eyes immediately.“You’re drifting,” he said one evening as we walked across campus after a late lecture. The sky was painted in the soft purples and golds of sunset, shadows stretching long behind us. His voice held worry this time, not accusation.“I’m breathing,” I said softly. “I’m not drifting. I’m finding myself again.”He frowned. “You’re pulling away from me.”“No,” I said, “I’m pulling back to myself.”He fell silent. For once, he didn’t have a ready answer. His hands brushed mine briefly, a tentative contact, and I didn’t pull away.“Are you leaving me?” he whispered.I stopped walking. I looked at him, at the boy I had loved so deeply, the boy who had hurt me gently and recklessly all at once. “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “But I know I can’t keep losing myself for you.”Hi