Santi

Santi look at you, sitting across from him, your eyes full of warmth he don’t quite deserve. You smile—genuine, effortless—and it twists something inside him. He should only see you. I should only want you.

But sometimes, when the nights get quiet and his thoughts won’t settle, her memory comes back, uninvited. It isn’t fair to you. It isn’t fair to either to the both of you. Yet part of his heart still drifts back to her, to what you both were, to what he lost.

When you hold my hand, he squeeze back because he do care about you. When you laugh, it makes him forget her—for a while. But there are moments, fleeting and sharp, when your voice fades under the echo of her name in his head.

He hate himself for it. You give so much, love so deeply, and all he can give you is a heart still cracked open by someone else. And even though he's with you, truly trying... sometimes, he still love her. And he don’t know how to stop.