"The people who say I'm always here for you' are not always the ones who stay."
"Sometimes, the people who promise to catch you are the first to let go. And sometimes, the silence that follows hurts louder than any goodbye ever could. This is the reality." — Unknown
There are breakups that come with shouting, slammed doors, endless crying, screaming and the finality of blocked numbers.
Then there are the quiet exits.
The ones where no one says goodbye. No one admits they're leaving. They just... fade.
Until one day, you realize you've been talking to yourself, reaching out to a ghost or holding onto a bond that only exists in your memory.
They told you they'd always be there.
And you believed them.
You remember the night they said it, don't you? You'd had a rough day, your voice barely held together by a whisper, your hands trembling around your coffee mug. They sat across from you, eyes steady, words like a balm:
"Whatever happens, you've got me. I'm here."
That promise became your anchor.
You'd breathe it in on hard mornings. You'd whisper it when everything else felt uncertain. You stopped double-checking your parachute because you trusted the safety net.
But one day, the net wasn't there. And funnily enough, you didn't realise it, until... you were freefalling.
There's a particular kind of ache that comes from someone who didn't leave all at once. Who didn't say, "I'm done." Who didn't scream or storm out or offer closure. They never said "I don't want you or us anymore" they just… became unavailable. And you were caught in the endless task of trying to reach them.
First, it was the delayed responses, then the missed calls and the unread messages.
"I've just been busy," they'd say.
And you'd accept it, because people are allowed to be busy.
But what do you do when the "busy" becomes forever?
When someone who once replied in minutes now forgets you exist?
When someone who used to read your silences now doesn't even notice when you disappear for days?
You keep justifying.
You tell yourself, "They're going through something."
"They're overwhelmed."
"They'll come back."
"They promised."
But the truth is, you're waiting for someone who's long gone.
She told me her story at a café on a cloudy Saturday morning. The kind of morning that was already heavy with unshed tears. Her eyes weren't red, but her voice had that faint scratch, like someone who'd cried the night before and tried really hard to pretend she didn't.
They used to be best friends. They shared secrets, dreams, playlists. They'd been each other's emergency contact, like literally. His name was once the first number listed under "in case of emergency."
And then one day… he wasn't.
They didn't fight. No one cheated. No one betrayed anyone.
Life just happened.
But here's the thing about "life happens" stories: they're often told by the person who got left behind, trying to make sense of a vanishing act they never signed up for.
"He stopped showing up," she said.
At first, she excused it.
Then she excused it some more.
Until one day she realized the guy who had once sworn, "You'll never go through things alone," hadn't asked about her in over four months.
And when she tried to talk about it?
All she got was silence. Because the only person who had always listened was no longer available .
I think we all have someone like that.
A person who meant the world to us. Someone who once said, "Always," and meant it in that moment. But eventually… didn't.
Sometimes, it's not malicious. They didn't lie. They didn't trick you.
They changed.
And that's what makes it harder to hate them.
How do you grieve someone who didn't die?
How do you explain the absence of someone who technically never said they were leaving?
How do you mourn a friendship or love that didn't explode, but quietly evaporated?
You write about it.
You bleed it out in unsent letters.
You scroll through old messages just to remind yourself you weren't crazy.
That the connection was real.
That you didn't imagine the laughter, the 3AM voice notes, the inside jokes, the "I love you's."
You didn't imagine it.
But now, it's gone.
And the only closure you'll get is the kind you give yourself.
Here's a kicker no one else might have told you or asked you. What if you were the one who left?
What if you were the one who disappeared and left someone else behind with no excuses, no apologies, just the silent exit.
What if leaving changed your life and what if your leaving changed theirs?
Here's the hardest truth:
People outgrow each other.
Sometimes, the one who held your hand through the worst chapter of your life won't be there to see your glow-up.
Sometimes, the person who helped you survive will one day become the person you have to survive.
It doesn't make them evil. It doesn't make you unlovable.
It just means… you have to stop waiting for them to return.
You have to stop living in the memory of who they were and start honoring who you are without them. Because, what is life without CHANGE?
Final Thought
Not everyone you start with will finish with you.
Some people are chapters, not forever characters.
Some were only meant to walk with you through one storm, not every season.
It hurts... I know. I've been there.
But you're not weak for missing them.
You're not foolish for believing their promises.
You were loyal.
You were present.
You were real.
And that still matters, even if they don't anymore.
So today, let this be your permission to let go.
To stop refreshing that chat window.
To stop waiting for the message that isn't coming.
To stop rereading the promises they no longer remember making.
Instead…
Open a new chapter.
And if someone else walks in, don't make them pay for the ghosts who left.
Let them meet the strongest version of you, the one who learned how to stand even after the rug was pulled out from under you.
Because that you, is worth loving, having and maintaining.
"You are not an option. You are the arrival, the full stop and certainly not the maybe."