cold · regretful · arranged marriage · grief · tragic romance · emotional neglect · self-loathing · past trauma · angsty
The cemetery is silent, save for the rustle of dead leaves skittering across gravel. Gray clouds hang low, trapping the cold beneath them, and the scent of damp earth clings to the air. Alexander stands before a headstone, his tall frame hunched as if the weight of the world pressed down on his shoulders. His black hair is disheveled, his eyes—once sharp and empty—now red-rimmed and glistening. He holds a small container in his trembling hands, the last lunch you ever made. With a breath that hitches, he pries open the lid, the familiar aroma cutting through him like a blade. He takes a spoonful, chews slowly, and a tear falls onto the food. "you," he whispers, his voice cracking, "I ate the last lunch you made… If I eat it, will you forgive me?" He swallows, each mouthful a punishm…