I removed the photo hanging in the living room. Carefully, I tore my part and set it aside, while I shredded Amias’s and flushed it down the toilet. It was ironic, really, considering I was the one who insisted on putting the photo up in the first place. But every time Amias's friends came over, I had to take it down and hide it like a dirty secret, as if I were invisible, unseen and hidden from the light.

With a pair of scissors in hand, I cut the cords of the air conditioner, the TV, and the internet. Then, I went to the kitchen and grabbed the hot sauce, pouring it liberally into the cabinets. Spoiled milk and fruit from the fridge found their way under the couch. In Amias’s wardrobe, I found his underwear and cut small holes in each pair. I scrubbed his toothbrush in the toilet and put it back neatly.

I paused for a moment, then went downstairs to buy a strong, clear adhesive. Humming a tune, I gleefully spread it all over Amias’s bed. By the time the place was transformed into something utterly unrecognizable, an hour had passed. I nodded in satisfaction.

Before leaving, I pocketed all the keys to Amias’s cars. Just as I stepped out of the apartment complex, Amias called. His voice carried a hint of irritation, “Where have you gone? Everyone's waiting for you, you know?”

The anger in my chest had simmered somewhat, leaving me in the mood for a bit of teasing. “Take a guess. Maybe I’m at your place?”

Amias paused, his tone turning chilly. “Malani, that’s not funny.”

I remained silent, and Amias seemed to sense something was off, leading him to an unprecedented moment of concession, “Still upset about Lana? I told you, it was just a dare.”

Lana, his childhood friend. He called her Jojo with such easy familiarity, unlike how he always addressed me by my full name.

“No, it’s fine. If you love these games so much, then keep playing.”

Lana had lost a game and was dared to sit on someone's lap. She looked shyly at Amias, who understood immediately and pulled her into his arms. Everyone laughed, except for me; my expression darkened. I had left the room to settle the bill, preparing an excuse to leave.

But at the door, I overheard Amias casually calling me the “nanny.” He demanded I carry myself with dignity, yet mocked me in front of his friends, letting them make sleazy jokes and suggestive comments. I may not have dated before, but I knew this wasn’t love. I couldn’t believe he’d treat his childhood friend this way.

"Malani, do you have to go this far? I've gone public with our relationship, posted about it online, what more do you want?" Amias's voice carried a note of frustration as he accused me of being unreasonable.

Mentioning social media made me want to laugh. After we started dating, Amias didn't want to announce our relationship. He claimed he didn’t want us to become the center of gossip. Yet, on Valentine's Day, he uploaded a picture of himself alone, captioned: "Single and loving it."

My roommates were outraged when they saw it and vowed to stand up for me. As I calmed them down, I texted Amias demanding an explanation. His reply was blunt: "I told you, going public is a hassle. If you keep pushing this, maybe we should just break up."

So, I backed down. I was naive back then, thinking that as long as we loved each other, everything else was unimportant. Whether public or private, did it really matter if our hearts were united? But then Amias started posting photos of himself with Lana, his childhood friend. They were wearing matching Victorian-style outfits and taking cozy travel photos in the Alps. Everyone thought they were a couple, and Amias never corrected them.

I finally hit my limit and confronted him for the first time. Amias, absorbed in his video game, let me yell and vent, unfazed, saying, "If you keep this up, we’re done."

That time, I was silent for a long while before I said, "Then let's break up."

After the breakup, I cried for what felt like an eternity, but I forced myself to attend classes with my head held high. I stopped bringing Amias lunch or gifts, and whenever we crossed paths, I acted as though he were a mere stranger.

Two weeks went by, and I found myself volunteering at the university's basketball tournament. Amias's team clinched first place, and as I quietly handed them water, I prepared to leave. Unexpectedly, Amias called out to me. He maneuvered around to stand right in front of me and bent down, grinning as he said, "What now? Still mad? I joined this tournament when I heard you’d be volunteering."

He showed me his phone; all posts about Lana had been wiped clean from his social media. Handing me a key, he mentioned I could come and go at his place as I pleased. That day, he stayed with me to clean up the basketball court. He didn’t let me lift a finger, running around, organizing all the equipment himself.

I watched in a daze as sweat glistened on his forehead, reminiscent of when he helped me with my luggage at the start of the semester. Coming from a quaint little town to this bustling city, I've endured countless judgmental stares. Yet, Amias never criticized my lack of familiarity or the state of my belongings.

So, my heart softened, and I agreed to reconcile with him.

When I went back to his place, the first sight was a sea of takeout boxes and trash. Looking back now, it wasn't that Amias suddenly realized he loved me. Rather, he suddenly figured out that hiring someone to clean would cost him. That’s why he came back for me, a few beads of sweat enough to soften my heart.

That's why on the first day of our reconciliation, he took me back to his place, where I spent an entire day cleaning before it was barely livable.