“So this is how loyalty ends—over a plate of fries and silence.”

There you were, sitting at a cozy little corner of your favorite restaurant, diving into your feast like it was just another casual meal, without a second thought, without a single message to the one person who would have dropped everything just to share that moment with you.

No “Wanna come with?”
No “I’m heading out, you in?”
Not even a blurry photo of the food to make me feel like I was at least included in spirit.

While you were savoring each bite, blissfully unaware, I was home—staring into the void of the empty fridge, listening to the sound of my own stomach sing sad songs of abandonment.
I wasn’t just hungry for food—I was starving for the kind of companionship we used to have, the kind where one plate, one table, one shared dessert was a symbol of unspoken loyalty.

Every crispy crunch you took, I felt it crack another piece of my heart.
Every drip of sauce you enjoyed without me, it painted the walls of betrayal in flavors we used to love together.

They say love is about the little things—and in our case, it was always about splitting the last nugget, passing the extra ketchup, or laughing over who got more fries.
But now? It’s just silence. Silence and screenshots of food I wasn’t invited to taste.

So don’t ask me if I’ve eaten when we see each other again.
I’ll smile. I’ll nod.
But inside, I’ll be dining on disappointment and sipping the bitter tea of “you forgot me.”

May your next burger be missing cheese.
May your drink come without a straw.
And may karma serve you a cold meal when you least expect it.

Because some betrayals don’t need big words—just empty seats and untouched plates where memories used to sit.