I found out Ryan was cheating on me the same way you find out you've been singing the wrong lyrics to your favorite song.
By accident.
His house was very quiet when I arrived, which should have been my first warning. Ryan was not that type, and his music was the kind that broke down walls like a wrecking ball. But that afternoon, the only sound I heard was the ceiling fan and the crunch of gravel under my sneakers.
I stood on his porch, clutching my acceptance letter like it was a passport to a better version of us.
We got in together.
That's what the email said. Same university, same campus.
I had imagined the moment all the way there—his surprised grin, the way he'd scoop me up even though he pretended he didn't like PDA, how we'd start planning our "college era" like it was the newest season of our lives.
I didn't knock. I never had to, and the door wasn't locked either. It creaked open just enough for me to see the shoes first. It was a pair of heels just by the couch—it was red and glossy, but definitely not mine.
I remember thinking, in a strange, detached way, that they were pretty.
Then I heard her laugh. The kind of laugh that only shows up when you think you belong somewhere. When you feel too comfortable.
Ryan's voice followed, saying her name like it tasted good in his mouth.
I don't remember dropping the letter. I just remember the swift sound of paper as it slid out of my hands and settled on the floor between my feet like a white flag.
I didn't go into the living room. I didn't feel the need to because some truths don't require verification. I simply stepped back outside, pulled the door closed, and stood there staring at my reflection in the dark glass of his window. I couldn't recognise my own face, it looked like someone had hit pause on me and forgot to press play again.
I eventually walked away like my legs just learned to walk.
***
The bar was three blocks down from his house. I had passed it a hundred times without ever stepping inside, but that night felt different… Like it had been waiting for me.
It was loud with music and voices and the smell of something bitter and sweet. I took a seat at the counter, ordered whatever the bartender recommended, and didn't ask what it was. The first glass went down too easily, the second burned, and the third blurred the edges of everything.
That's when I noticed him.
He was sitting alone at the far end of the bar, not drinking, just observing the room like it was merely entertainment to him with zero desire to blend in. He just existed.
Our eyes met, and I felt an awareness that didn't feel like attraction yet. It felt like recognition. He looked away first, and I should have let that be the end of it. Instead, I took my glass and walked over.
"Are you always this mysterious," I asked, "or did I just catch you on a dramatic night?"
He smiled slowly, like he was being deliberate about the exact version of himself that he wanted to show me.
"Only when I'm being observed."
His voice was calm and charming. I liked that.
We talked about nothing and everything—music, the city, the strange comfort of being surrounded by strangers. But I didn't tell him about Ryan, nor did I tell him about the letter in my bag, crumpled and forgotten.
He didn't tell me his name.
Somewhere between one glass and the next, the world felt gentle. The lights blurred into warm halos, and his shoulder brushed against mine, but I didn't move away. The night turned on by itself after that.
I remember his hand stabilising me as we walked outside, the way the city seemed peaceful when it was just the two of us moving through it. I also remember thinking, distantly, that I should care more than I did.
But what I don't remember is making the decision. I only remember waking up with the gravity of it.
***
The morning after feels different when you know something in your life has been altered.
The sky looked the same, and so did the world, but I didn't. He was already gone by the time I woke up. No note, no number, just the void inside me and the reminder of a night I wasn't sure how to name.
I told myself it was fine and that it didn't mean anything.
Ryan texted me before noon.
"Hey! I messed up, okay? I'm sorry. Please come over and let me explain."
I stared at the message for a long time.
Then I went.
Forgiveness is a strange thing. It feels powerful when you give it, even when it costs you more than the other person will ever know.
I cried, he apologized and promised.
I didn't mention the bar, the mysterious man with the charming voice and eyes that seemed to haunt me even when I wanted to forget him.
I told myself the night belonged to a version of me that didn't exist anymore.
***
University started two weeks later.
The campus was bigger than I expected. It appeared older like it carried a thousand stories in its walls and didn't care if mine ever became one of them.
Ryan walked beside me, hand-in-hand, like he was trying to convince the world, and maybe himself, that we were still solid.
My first lecture was in a large hall with high windows and long rows of seats. I found a place in the middle, pulled out my notebook, and focused on my breathing.
New start. Clean slate.
The room fell silent when the front door opened. I looked up and suddenly forgot how to breathe.
It was him.
The man from the bar. The night I told myself didn't matter, seemed to have something planned out against me.
He stood at the podium now, composed, and dressed in a way that made him look like he owned the room. His eyes swept over the class and stopped on me just for a second. But that second was enough.
Something unreadable passed through his expression—surprise, recognition, something darker beneath it. He recovered first.
"Good morning," he said, like we had never met, like his hand hadn't touched me in the dark, like my name wasn't something he almost knew. "I'm Professor Reed. And I'll be teaching you this semester."
My pen slipped from my fingers and hit the floor.
Ryan leaned over. "You okay, Mira?"
I nodded.
Professor Reed's gaze found me again.
This time, it didn't look away.