From the bottom of my heart, I was never sorry – I couldn't – when we were together, I kept thinking that I was the victim.

Not interested, not even the least amazed by his so-called love confession on that evening. The old sturdy bridge in our town, "Lady" as we used to call it, there I stood like a statue as my arms were folded tightly against my chest while rolling my eyes exasperatingly.

It had been always like that – between us. The fact that I loathed him, and he knew that well was not a mere acceptance by now – it was history.