The Unfollow That Set Me Free

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Some breakups don’t end in screaming. They end in silence.

No blocking. No dramatic text message. Just... stillness. A strange kind of quiet that forces you to sit with everything you didn’t say. And for months, I sat with it — unsure if I was the villain, unsure if I made the right call walking away from someone I once believed would be my forever.


The decision to end the relationship didn’t come easy. I had valid reasons. There were moments I was emotionally drained, unheard, and left to beg for basic connection. I reached my limit. I walked away not because I stopped caring, but because I started realizing I was the only one fighting for what we had left.

Still, after the breakup, something unexpected happened. I didn’t feel relief — I felt guilt. 


Crushing guilt. Like I broke someone who only ever tried to love me. I questioned everything. Was I too cold? Did I give up too fast? Did they actually love me more than I realized?

But here's the truth: what I missed wasn’t love. It was the idea of love. The routine. The memory. The intimacy. The comfort of what used to be. It wasn’t about going back — it was about craving validation. I didn’t want them back. I just wanted to know they still cared that I left.


Weeks passed. Then months. I didn’t check their page — not really. Maybe once or twice, but nothing obsessive. They, on the other hand, stayed quiet. No obvious signs of pain, no indirect posts. And it haunted me. Their silence made me feel like I was the only one still grieving.


So one day, I deleted every trace of them from my social media. It wasn’t out of anger — I just needed emotional detachment to breathe again. I thought nothing of it. Until a few days later... the posts they made about me (happy birthday posts, date posts when we were together vanished too.


That’s when it hit me. They were watching. Silently. Just like I once was.

And for the first time since we ended, I felt peace. Not because I hurt them, but because I finally had proof that I wasn’t alone in the aftermath. They were still tethered to what we had — quietly checking, quietly reacting. And that silent reaction? It gave me the closure no goodbye ever could.


Then came the final nail — a bold, revealing thirst trap on my timeline. A version of them I’d never seen before. Confident, exposed, unrecognizable. It wasn’t just a post; it was a performance. Whether it was to make me jealous or to prove something to themselves, I don’t know. But all it did was confirm what I’d been slowly realizing…


The person I loved wasn’t this. And the person they became? Isn’t someone I miss. Not truly.

Healing after heartbreak isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it happens in tiny shifts — in a deleted picture, in the space left behind, in watching someone you used to love become a stranger online. It happens when their silence stops hurting and starts freeing you.

I don’t hate them. I don’t wish them pain.
But I also don’t wish them back.

Some people leave your life… and their absence is the closure.


For Empress, always.

— Jaes

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