The night before her nineteenth birthday, Ann sat in her small apartment in Queens, her face half-lit by the soft glow of her laptop screen.
The world outside was already asleep, but her heart was wide awake, pulsing painfully in her chest like a drum that wouldn't stop.
The birthday balloons her roommate, Casey, had hung near the window fluttered faintly. They should have made her smile. But all Ann could see was the green notification light blinking on her phone, a WhatsApp message from Alex.
She'd been waiting all evening for that.
She thought he'd forgotten her birthday, but Alex never did. He always sent long messages, full of silly jokes and love emojis.
But this one wasn't that.
> Alex: Ann, I think we should stop seeing each other. It's not you… it's me. I just need to focus on myself right now. Please don't text back. I'm sorry.
For a second, Ann thought her eyes deceived her.
She blinked, waiting for her heart to catch up with the words.
It didn't.
Her phone slipped from her hand and landed on the tiled floor with a hollow thud.
"Alex…?" she whispered into the darkness, as if the name alone could bring him back.
But there was only silence.
Then came the tears, hot, uncontrollable, streaming down her cheeks as if her soul had cracked open. She had loved Alex with a kind of loyalty that scared even her sometimes. She was there when he had nothing, when his dream of becoming a musician was just scraps of lyrics in a tattered notebook.
She remembered how she'd saved her allowance to buy him his first microphone.
How she'd stayed up editing his songs on her laptop when he couldn't afford studio time.
How she'd believed in him, even when no one else did.
And now, all she got was a text.
A text.
A few lines that ended everything.
She opened Instagram out of reflex, maybe there was an explanation, maybe he'd post something that made sense.
Instead, she saw a story: Alex in a dimly lit club, his arm wrapped around a girl she didn't know, both laughing like the world owed them no pain.
Her stomach twisted.
Casey's voice came from the next room, sleepy and unaware. "Babe, you okay? It's past midnight."
Ann forced herself to speak. "Yeah… I'm fine."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
She wasn't fine.
She was shattered.
The next morning, sunlight spilled through her blinds, catching the faint glitter of her birthday decorations.
Casey had made pancakes, even stuck a small candle in one.
"Happy nineteenth, babe!" she chirped, handing her the plate.
Ann smiled weakly. "Thanks."
"You don't look like it's your birthday," Casey teased, narrowing her eyes. "Don't tell me Alex forgot to call?"
Ann's throat tightened. She didn't want to cry again. "He didn't forget," she murmured. "He… left."
Casey's jaw dropped. "What do you mean left? As in, broke up?"
Ann nodded, staring at the candle on the pancake. Nineteen years alive, and heartbreak already feels like death.
"That coward," Casey hissed. "After everything you did for him? Girl, you helped him record his first damn single!"
Ann chuckled sadly. "Guess he found a new muse."
Casey reached out, holding her hand. "Don't let him ruin your birthday. He's not worth it."
Ann swallowed the lump in her throat and whispered, "Then why does it hurt this much?"
That evening, she dressed in a simple black top and blue jeans. No makeup, no glamour. Just a girl trying to hold her pieces together.
Her classmates had planned a small get-together at a café near campus. It wasn't about the birthday anymore, it was about distraction.
The city was alive, honking cars, chatter, the golden wash of sunset across tall glass buildings. New York had a way of making you feel small and infinite at the same time.
At the café, everyone laughed and teased. Someone played "Happy Birthday" on the guitar, off-key but joyful.
Ann forced smiles.
She told herself she was fine.
That Alex didn't deserve her tears.
But every time someone mentioned love, she felt her chest tighten again.
When she got home that night, she collapsed on her bed and whispered to herself,
> "No one will ever get that close again. Not that close."
She wiped her tears and opened her laptop. Her final exams were days away, and she was determined not to let heartbreak steal her focus. Architecture was her dream, and she wouldn't let Alex take that from her too.
The following week was brutal, coffee-fueled nights, sketches, and presentations.
Ann threw herself into work like someone running from her own thoughts.
Her designs were bold, creative, her professors noticed.
But inside, she was hollow.
Sometimes, she'd open her phone out of habit, hoping Alex would text again.
He never did.
Her friend Casey tried everything: movie nights, long walks, ice cream therapy. But heartbreak isn't a wound time immediately heals, it's a slow burn.
One evening, as Ann walked out of the design studio, she bumped into a guy, tall, brown-eyed, wearing a paint-stained hoodie.
"Whoa, sorry!" he laughed, steadying her sketch roll before it fell. "Didn't see you there."
She looked up. "It's fine. My fault."
He smiled. "You're in Architecture, right? Year three?"
"Yeah. Year three," she replied, surprised he knew.
"I've seen you in the model lab," he said. "I'm Jake — Fine Arts major. You always look… focused. Like the world disappears when you draw."
Ann blinked. She hadn't realized anyone noticed her like that before.
"Ann," she said softly, shaking his hand.
"Nice to finally meet the mystery architect," Jake grinned. "You coming to the art exhibition on Saturday? You should might inspire your designs."
She hesitated. She wasn't in the mood for social things. But his tone was kind not flirtatious, just genuine.
"Maybe," she said.
Saturday came.
Casey dragged her out, "Girl, you need to see people who don't break hearts for a living."
The exhibition was crowded, music, laughter, the scent of paint and coffee.
Ann wandered between canvases, each telling a story of chaos and beauty.
Then she stopped before one painting, a woman sitting alone at a table, staring at a phone glowing in her hand, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.
It was titled "The Message."
Jake appeared beside her. "You like it?"
She turned to him, her voice a whisper. "It feels… too real."
He studied her for a moment, then said quietly, "Sometimes art hurts because it reminds us of what we've survived."
Ann's eyes softened. "You painted this?"
He nodded. "Last year. After someone left without goodbye."
For the first time in weeks, she smiled, not forced, not broken. "So I'm not the only one."
"No one is," Jake replied gently. "But you can build something beautiful from it, you're an architect, after all."
His words stayed with her. Build something beautiful from it.
That night, she sat by her window, staring at the city lights. She thought about everything she'd lost, and everything she still had.
Her heart still ached for Alex, but there was a quiet realization forming:
Maybe the pain wasn't punishment. Maybe it was the beginning of something new.
She opened her sketchpad and began drawing. Not buildings this time, but people, emotions, memories.
And in the center of the page, she drew a girl, broken but standing, surrounded by shattered glass that sparkled like stars.
Days passed. Weeks melted into summer heat.
Her final results came out, she'd passed brilliantly.
Her professors recommended her for an internship with a top architectural firm in Manhattan. It felt unreal.
Casey screamed when she heard. "Girl, this is huge! You're going to work with real professionals! Forget Alex, you're the main character now!"
Ann laughed, genuinely this time. "Maybe I am."
On her first day at the firm, she dressed in a cream blazer and black trousers, her curls tied neatly.
The city's skyline looked endless from the office windows, steel and glass, rising proudly into the clouds.
Her mentor, Mrs. Rodriguez, smiled at her. "You have passion, Ann. I see it in your designs. Don't lose that fire, heartbreaks and disappointments are temporary. Art is forever."
Ann nodded, remembering Jake's words too.
She realized something: everyone she met, Casey, Jake, even Mrs. Rodriguez, had carried their own scars. The difference was how they rebuilt.
Maybe she could, too.
One afternoon, during lunch break, she scrolled through her phone and saw Alex's name again.
Her heart didn't race this time. It just… paused.
He'd posted a story, him performing on stage, crowd cheering, captioned "Grind never stops."
She smiled faintly.
Maybe he found what he was chasing.
And maybe she did too.
Then her phone buzzed, a new message.
> Jake: "Lunch tomorrow? There's this architecture gallery downtown — thought you might love it."
She typed back, "Sure. 1 PM?"
> Jake: "It's a date… or not a date, unless you want it to be 😉."
She laughed quietly to herself, shaking her head. "Not a date," she muttered. But she was smiling, wide, unguarded, alive.
That night, as she looked out her window, the moonlight spilled across her desk, touching the old sketch she'd drawn, the broken girl with the glass shards.
Ann picked up a pencil and added one more detail, wings rising from the girl's shoulders.
Not angelic, not perfect, but strong, defiant, scarred.
She whispered, "You'll be fine."
And for the first time since Alex's message, she believed it.