Joshua came home during the holidays.
His return was announced before he even reached her. News traveled fast, faster than truth. By the time she saw him, her heart had already forgiven everything.
He smiled the way he used to.
Spoke softly.
Touched her hand like it still belonged to him.
"I've been busy," he said gently.
"School is not easy. I didn't want distractions."
His words sounded responsible. Mature. Convincing.
He told her he had heard rumors.
"They're saying I don't love you," he scoffed.
"Don't listen to them. They're just jealous. They can't have you."
Jealous.
The word settled easily in her chest, warm and comforting. It explained everything she didn't want to question.
He painted himself as misunderstood. As loyal. As a man sacrificing love for his future. He made her feel foolish for doubting him—subtly, skillfully.
"You know I love you," he whispered.
"You know it's always been you."
And she believed him.
Because she wanted to.
She blamed herself for not understanding university life. For expecting too much. For thinking absence meant abandonment. She told herself patience was maturity.
"I missed you," she said, her voice trembling.
"I'm glad you're back."
They continued from where they had stopped, as if nothing had broken. As if distance had not changed him. As if waiting had not cost her pieces of herself.
But what Tiana did not know—what Joshua never said—was that his sweetness was borrowed. Practiced. Temporary.
In school, another girl held his hand.
Another girl listened to his dreams.
Another girl believed she was the only one.
Here, Tiana received the version of him that needed comfort. Money. Familiarity.
Love, for Joshua, had become a performance.
And Tiana, still hopeful, applauded it—
unaware she was clapping for her own heartbreak.