Leap From a Burning Airship

Once I land?

I let out a bitter laugh, unsure if I would even make it home alive. He had hung up before I could say another word.

My relationship with Oliver had always been one-sided. I was the only one making an effort. He remained aloof, almost indifferent.

We had been neighbors since childhood, and I had a secret crush on him for a full decade.

In the tenth year, tragedy struck. He was in a severe car accident that nearly put him in a wheelchair for life.

His then-girlfriend, Giselle, used the excuse of studying abroad to abandon him, fleeing to another country.

It was I who stayed by his bedside, nursing him back to health, accompanying him to countless doctor’s appointments and physical therapy sessions.

I watched over him day and night.

Perhaps out of gratitude, Oliver finally accepted my affection. Those days, though difficult, brought me a profound sense of happiness.

It was clear that I loved him more than he loved me.

Then came our anniversary.

I bought a cake and prepared a feast, eagerly waiting for him to come home from work. I waited from dusk until dawn, but he never showed up.

I called him many times.

“I’m preparing for an important commercial flight,” he said when he finally answered.

“Who takes an airship at this hour?” I asked.

“Don’t be so suspicious. I’m just working overtime. The airships need maintenance, too.”

“When will you be back?” I asked him again.

“Later.”

“Okay. I made all your favorite dishes. Please hurry home.”

As time went on, his answers became more dismissive whenever I asked.

“I’ll be back later.”

All those “laters” often stretched into the early hours of the morning.

One evening, after I had reheated his dinner several times, a notification popped up on my phone.

It was an Instagram post from Giselle.

After so long, we can still talk for hours. So lucky to have you in my life. The accompanying photo was of a scented candle.

Someone in the comments asked who gave it to her.

Giselle replied: An old friend of mine. We went to a trendy DIY workshop today, and he made it for me himself to help with my insomnia. The comment section was filled with praise and envy.

My heart sank when I spotted Oliver’s account in the likes. My gut told me he was with Giselle.

We had been together for so long, and he had never given me a single gift, yet the moment she returned, he seemed to drop everything for her.

I sat on the sofa, tossing and turning, unable to sleep a wink.

At three in the morning, Oliver returned, reeking of alcohol.

“Why are you still awake?” he asked, the scent of lavender mingling with the liquor on his breath.

“Working overtime again?” I asked softly.

He glanced at the dishes on the dining table, all his favorites.

“A colleague insisted on treating me to dinner to thank me for covering his shift,” he said.

The emotions I had suppressed all night were suffocating me.

“Did you forget it’s our anniversary today?”

Oliver rubbed his forehead, clearly irritated.

“Is it necessary to make such a big deal out of an anniversary? There’s Valentine’s Day, birthdays… so many holidays. Do we have to celebrate every single one?”

A wave of sorrow washed over me, and I bit back tears, refusing to let them fall.

“Is Giselle back in the country?”

The question seemed to infuriate him. He looked at me coldly.

“Listen, Amelia, we’re together. What more do you want?”

What more could I want? I had his body, but never his heart.

He went to his room, and I sat alone on the sofa, crying myself to sleep.

An hour later, he received a message from Giselle, saying she had heart palpitations and was scared.

Despite his exhaustion, Oliver showed no sign of annoyance. He got dressed and rushed over to her place.

I remembered when we first got together. I had made breakfast and gently knocked on his door to let him know.

Oliver’s eyes flew open in a rage, and he hurled a heavy whiskey glass from his nightstand at me.