Vows Lost in the Wind

Since it's already the end of the year, the music app I use produces a report on the songs I've listened to in 2025.

The keyword of my report is "resonance".

Over the year, I don't spend much time listening to the songs on this app. My girlfriend, Sienna Fletcher, is the one who's been using my account this whole time.

There's a row beneath the keyword that's written in a tiny font.

"You had listened to this song with someone at 4:00 am on December 1st. It turns out that love can go beyond a night's sleep."

My breath gets hitched in my throat.

December 1st is my birthday. But that night, I had gone to bed at an early hour.

Meanwhile, Sienna had left hurriedly after cutting my birthday cake with me with the excuse that she needed to pull an overnight shift at the company.

For some reason, I tap onto the unfamiliar-looking profile that has been interacting frequently with my account with a trembling finger.

Their keyword of the year is "favor".

My heart skips a beat at the sight. Then, I tap on the details.

"Over the year, you've listened to songs with this user 688 times in the middle of the night. Every time you do, it's a secretive conversation meant for your souls."

The next thing I know, I receive a message from Sienna.

"Babe, I need to work overtime tonight again. You don't have to wait up for me. Just go to bed early."

At the same time, a new post is uploaded on the unfamiliar profile. It features a photo of two hands that are intertwined together.

"I love working overtime with her the most. I want to listen to songs with her forever."

I didn't reply to the message from my girlfriend, Sienna Fletcher. My eyes were locked on the photo.

I knew that car-interior decoration all too well. It was the gift I had given Sienna after her promotion. In the passenger-side glove compartment hung the lucky charm I had personally gotten for her.

I tapped the unfamiliar account's profile and opened its playlist.

The pinned playlist was titled "Belated Love". The description read, "You're the joy I waited for and the only one I'll ever need for the rest of my life."

The playlist was filled with Sienna's favorite post-rock and indie folk songs.

Every single track had a record, showing when they had listened to it together, from 2:00 am to 5:00 am.

Those were the countless nights Sienna used overtime as an excuse not to come home.

A sharp pang of bitterness hit me.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed.

A new message popped up. "Shawn, happy New Year! No matter how far you go, you'll always be the closest person to me."

It was Archie Crosby, the underprivileged young man I had sponsored for four years. I had brought him out of the remote mountains and got him into Sienna's company.

My finger hovered over the reply box. Before I could respond, I received a notification about a new post on social media.

I tapped on it without thinking.

The video was only five seconds long.

Sienna, who was supposed to be stuck at the office for overtime, was standing on the beach.

The wind was howling, and the sparkler in her hand lit up her gentle profile.

In the background, Archie's voice carried a playful tone. "Sienna, make a wish."

Sienna smiled as she blew out the sparks. Her gaze almost melted the camera as she said, "My wish is for every year to be like today, with Archie by my side."

A cold chill ran through me.

With Archie by her side? What about me? Was I just a joke to her?

My gaze drifted, stiff and robotic, back to the photo of the hands clasped inside the car.

I hadn't noticed it before, but now I saw it clearly.

The slender wrist on that hand wore a sports watch. It wasn't expensive, but it looked so familiar.

It was the birthday gift I'd chosen for Archie last month.

I glanced back at the unfamiliar account's ID named "Arienna".

The term was a combination of Archie and Sienna.

So this was it.

The guy I had always treated like a brother had stolen the woman I loved with all my heart.

I suddenly laughed. As I did, my tears splashed onto the screen.

Six months ago, Sienna had complained to me, frowning, "Archie is so clumsy. Can I not take him in?"

I'd comforted her, saying, "He just graduated. Life is a struggle at that age. Be patient with him."

So this was her idea of being patient. From the bed to the floor, she certainly gave him a lot of patience.

I looked at the pot of soup I had spent four hours making for her. It was now covered in a layer of greasy film.

It looked just like us—warm and tender on the surface, but underneath, it was nothing but greasy rot.

I stood, grabbed the pot, and poured everything into the trash.