Escape Before Getting Married

At eleven o'clock at night, Oliver Pettyfer staggered through the door, reeking of alcohol.

When he saw me sitting on the couch, his face clearly displayed his disdain. "Why are you still up? I told you I was going out for drinks with the guys, so don't wait up. What a waste of time."

Yes, waiting for him had indeed been a waste of time.

I stood up and walked over to him, meeting his gaze with cold silence.

His eyes widened in surprise at my lack of reaction. "What are you staring at me for?" he asked, craning his neck.

I managed a smile and replied, "Nothing. You sit down. I'll get you a glass of honey water."

Before he could respond, I bypassed him and headed straight for the kitchen.

When I emerged with the glass of honey water, I saw Oliver sitting rigidly on the couch, his eyes fixed on the kitchen. Only when he saw me return did his posture relax slightly.

I handed him the glass with a calm tone. "Drink this."

Oliver took the glass, but his gaze stayed glued to my face. "Are you mad?"

I shook my head slightly, offering no verbal answer.

He sighed with relief, finishing the honey water in one gulp.

"You should go take a shower. I'm heading to bed."

With that, I headed to the bedroom.

I heard a low murmur from him as I walked away, but the sound was too faint to catch clearly.

Lying in bed, I shut my eyes and replayed the years I'd spent with Oliver.

We'd been childhood friends, the couple everyone thought was made in heaven.

After high school, he confessed his feelings. He promised me eternal love and vowed to be by my side forever.

We went to the same college, becoming the envy of our peers. Our love story was still the stuff of campus legends. After graduation, we started a business together. With our parents' full support, we quickly made a name for ourselves in the business world.

From eighteen to twenty-five, we'd been together for seven years.

I thought we'd always be together until today when I used his computer to search for some information and stumbled upon a few troubling search queries.

[How to break up gracefully?]

[Can a relationship continue if the love is gone?]

[What to do when feelings fade?]

Based on the search history, the first query was: [What to do when feelings fade?]

In that instant, I realized Oliver knew our relationship had grown cold. No, it was more than that—it had become stale.

There was a big difference between "fading" and "stale." Fading implied a gentle decline, while stale denoted a sense of distaste.

Seven years ago, we were young and hopeful, dreaming of the future.

But today, we'd lost that impulsive passion.

Our relationship had become as dull as dishwater; a pebble thrown in might not even create a ripple.

What did I do when I realized this?

Oh, I remembered now.

I dragged Oliver into trying new experiences, but he said he was too tired.

I reminisced about the good times we had, but he dismissed them as things of the past.

I shared funny posts and scenic nature pictures with him, but he complained they were a waste of time and asked me not to send them anymore.

I even changed my style and wardrobe, hoping to surprise him. He said I must have too much free time if I could still bother to dress up.

I was exhausted. After numerous cold shoulders from him, I lost the energy to fight for our relationship any longer.

I suspect that Oliver might have stopped loving me a long time ago. Maybe because of the weight of our years together and the ties between our families, he didn't know how to break up with me, especially since I hadn't done anything wrong.

That was probably why he'd been searching online for answers, and it was telling that he used the word "graceful" in his queries.

I thought it was time for me to let him go and, in the process, salvage what was left of my own dignity.

This relationship, which started with childhood friendship and was blessed by everyone around us, had become a tangled mess. There was no idealized romance or scheming of other women involved.

Just labels and expectations that had made even the act of breaking up a bit more complicated.

Because of these labels, I'd been fighting so hard to save our relationship, even though it was clear love was no longer a part of it. I'd been thinking that maybe we needed some time to ease out of each other's lives. Gradually erasing each other's presence might be the only way to end this relationship with some dignity.

It would be a fitting conclusion to these seven years, giving our story the closure it deserved.