I carry a secret. A love that feels like both salvation and damnation. Every breath I take is a silent scream, a confession whispered into the void of my own guilt. It started so innocently, didn’t it? Or maybe that’s just the lie I tell myself to make it bearable.
They were perfect, my best friend and their partner. A golden couple, a testament to what true love should be. I envied it, yes, but with a pure heart, believing in the kind of forever they embodied. I was their third wheel, their confidant, the one who saw all the small, sweet moments that made their relationship so aspirational. I was happy for them. Truly.
Then, things shifted. My best friend started traveling more for work. I was the one who often kept their partner company. We’d grab coffee, sometimes dinner. Harmless, platonic, right? We talked about everything. Their hopes, their fears, the quiet frustrations of daily life. I saw a side of them that felt hidden from the world, a vulnerability that drew me in. Slowly, imperceptibly, the lines blurred.
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One evening, after too much wine and a particularly raw conversation about loneliness, their hand found mine across the table. Just a touch. But it wasn’t innocent. It was a spark, an electric current that surged through me, igniting something I hadn’t known was dormant. My heart hammered. Guilt, sharp and immediate, twisted in my gut. But beneath it, a desperate, undeniable pull.
It wasn’t long before the stolen glances became lingering touches, the private jokes evolved into whispers of affection. Every shared moment felt loaded, brimming with unspoken desire. The conversations deepened, delving into our souls, exposing the parts of ourselves we kept hidden even from those closest to us. With them, I felt completely, utterly seen. Understood in a way I never had before. This wasn’t just attraction; this was connection. A profound, terrifying, unconventional love blossoming in the most forbidden ground.
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I tried to fight it. God, I tried. The thought of betraying my best friend was a knife to my conscience. I’d replay their laughter, their trusting smile, the countless times they’d been there for me. But the pull was too strong. This person, my best friend’s partner, became my everything. My confidant, my solace, the only one who truly understood the suffocating weight of my secret.
Our love grew in the shadows, fueled by adrenaline and a desperate hope for a future we couldn’t yet grasp. We developed our own language, our own world. Every stolen kiss was a declaration, every clandestine meeting a sacred ritual. We spent hours talking about leaving everything behind, about starting fresh, just the two of us. We believed our love was so powerful, so unique, so undeniably real that it had to be right. It was an unbreakable bond, forged in the crucible of shared guilt and fervent desire. It was us against the world.
The nights were filled with passionate promises, tearful apologies to an unseen future, and the fierce conviction that we were soulmates. “This isn’t just an affair,” they’d whisper against my skin, “This is fate. This is meant to be.” And I believed them. I poured my entire soul into that belief, sacrificing my peace, my integrity, for this love I felt so destined for.
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The lies became a heavy cloak, suffocating me, but their presence was the only air I could breathe. We had elaborate escape plans, detailed futures mapped out in hushed tones, away from judgment, away from the pain we knew we would cause. The guilt was a constant companion, a dull ache that never truly subsided, but it was overshadowed by the fierce, intoxicating belief that we were building something so beautiful, so rare, that it justified everything.
We finally decided. We couldn’t live like this anymore. We had to tell my best friend, face the fallout, and begin our life together. The morning we planned to confess, I felt a terrifying cocktail of dread and exhilarating hope. This was it. The moment of truth.
My best friend sat across from me, their eyes wide and earnest. Their partner was beside them, looking resolute, ready to break the news together. I took a deep breath, the words forming on my tongue, when my best friend interrupted, their voice calm, almost too calm.
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“I know,” they said, their gaze unwavering. My blood ran cold. My partner shifted uneasily.
“I know about you two. I know about all of it.”
My stomach dropped. I braced myself for the explosion, the tears, the rage. But none of it came. Instead, a quiet sadness settled on their face.
“It’s okay,” they continued, and my mind screamed, NO, IT IS NOT OKAY! “I’m not surprised. Honestly, I should have seen it coming.”
My partner reached for my hand under the table, a silent comfort, but my best friend’s next words shattered my entire world.
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“They do this,” my best friend said, nodding towards my partner. “They create these intense, secret relationships. These ‘unconventional loves’ that feel like the most profound connection you’ve ever had. They make you believe you’re their soulmate, that you share an ‘unbreakable bond’ unlike anything else.”
My heart pounded, a frantic bird trapped in my chest. What were they talking about?
“You see,” my best friend continued, a single tear tracing a path down their cheek, “I was the ‘unconventional love’ before you. And before me, there was someone else. And before them, another.”
My partner flinched, pulling their hand away from mine. My best friend’s gaze was fixed on me, filled with a sorrow so deep it mirrored my own burgeoning horror.
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“They build you up, make you believe you’re the one, the only one. They make you feel seen, understood, special. They promise to leave everything for you, for your unique, destined love.” My best friend’s voice broke. “But you were never unique. You were just the next chapter in their endless cycle of ‘unbreakable bonds’ with strangers.“
My breath caught in my throat. My vision blurred. The “unconventional love” I had nurtured, the “unbreakable bond” I had believed in so fiercely, was a practiced performance. A cruel, calculated illusion. I was not a soulmate; I was a mark.
I looked at my partner, their face now a mask of shame and fear, utterly stripped of the charm and intensity I had fallen for. I looked back at my best friend, their eyes holding not just pain, but an ancient weariness. They knew. They had known this person all along, known the patterns, the lies. And I, in my desperate need for an “unconventional love,” had become the very thing I despised: another casualty in a manipulative game I didn’t even know was being played.
A brand new TV | Source: Midjourney
The silence in the room was deafening. MY WORLD IMPLODED. Every stolen moment, every whispered promise, every intense conversation – all of it was a lie. The unbreakable bond? It was broken before it even began. And the most unbearable truth? My best friend hadn’t lost their partner to me; they had lost their partner to themselves, over and over again, long before I ever stepped into their tragic, practiced charade.
