The Story: A Bitter Awakening

At 23, I am at an age people often describe as “mature enough to understand life, yet naive enough to be easily hurt.” I’ve just lived through a story that, even now, makes my heart ache with every beat.

I used to believe that as long as two people still had feelings, as long as their hearts still fluttered for one another, everything could start over. But it turns out, there are some relationships that—no matter how many times you try to revive them—only end up ripping open an old wound once more.

I met Manh during my university years. He was the kind of guy who stood out in a crowd—tall, bright, energetic, and confident. We shared the most beautiful years of our youth together. I truly thought he would be the one to walk the long road with me. However, love is rarely just about two people. Before graduation, his parents rejected me because my family was “ordinary” and didn’t “match” their status. We broke up in silence. No fighting, no clinging—just two people walking in opposite directions.

Years later, we reconnected. He reached out, and my heart foolishly nurtured a tiny spark of hope. When he invited me to visit him for a weekend, I hesitated, then nodded. Standing before him, looking into those familiar eyes, all my logic vanished. We talked and laughed as if the breakup had never happened.

And then, the inevitable happened. We shared a passionate night together.

Lying in his arms, I whispered: “I think we can start over, right?” He didn’t answer; he just held me in silence. At that moment, I mistook his silence for agreement. For the following weeks, I lived in a whirlwind of passion, convinced we were back together. But his lack of a formal commitment made my anxiety grow.

Finally, one morning, after another night together, I couldn’t take it anymore. I asked him directly: “When are you going to tell your parents about us?”

He looked at me for a long time—so long that I began to feel afraid. Then, he spoke 10 words in a tone so calm it was cruel:

I was stunned. I sat there, unable to comprehend what I had just heard. I forced a bitter smile and asked, “What do you mean? If you think of me as a sister, why did you do those things with me?”

He simply repeated, slowly and clearly, that he never intended to bring me home as his girlfriend again. In that instant, I felt small, foolish, and pathetic. It turned out I was the only one dreaming of a revival. To him, I was just a familiar comfort, a place to revisit old sensations—or to put it bluntly, a temporary outlet for his needs, but never a future.

I have since cut him off completely. I am learning to let go—to let go of a man who no longer sees me as a partner and to discard the beautiful illusions I painted for myself. I’ve learned a painful lesson: Not every intimacy is love, and not everyone who comes back intends to stay.