On day five, I posted a guide about going abroad on Instagram, feeling a strange sense of finality. Then, a notification popped up—people you may know. Among the suggestions was an account named “Naomi.” Her latest post from the night before was captioned, [Teenage dreams come true.]
I didn’t even need to think twice to know what she meant.
The Instagram post was tagged in Alderhaven and it hit me—Alderhaven was Mason’s hometown.
On the fourth day of my breakup countdown, I stared at the clutter I had accumulated over five years. Exhausted, I called a moving company to help pack everything.
On the third day, I shipped my luggage off and confirmed my arrival date with my foreign tutor. During that time, Mason texted, "[What are you doing? I miss you.]" It felt like an eyesore, so I blocked him.
By the second day, everything in the apartment that belonged to me was gone. I left the keys, turned off the lights and walked out. Since my city didn’t have an airport, I had to head to the next city a day early.
On the train, I got a call from Peyton, Mason’s childhood friend. He mentioned Mason was planning a surprise for me, recording a video and asked if I could "dress up a little." He even threw in a casual "happy marriage" wish. Clearly, he was mistaken. I hung up, confused.
Finally, on the morning of the seventh day, I checked in for my flight. The countdown was over. As I sat waiting to take off, Mason blew up my phone with calls and texts, begging me to meet him at the town hall. I replied with just one sentence, "[As you wish, let’s break up.]"
