It was a hollow feeling, this feeling. Her phone no longer bore the prints of his number and her room was missing the ubitiquous memorabilia he had given her over the many years. But still, her heart seemed to congeal into one blinding object of pain.
He did it. He should feel this pain, not her.
Not her. She had been careful this time, baring her heart only when he has passed the regular commitment tests. ‘Let him be the one to call you’, ‘He should be the one to share how he feels, first’, they had told her. Bambo had passed all these.
But still, she was the one hurting.
At 23, he was still young. At least, that’s what all his male friends said.
High-paying jobs and world experiences awaited him. He was still young. Bambo deleted her number.