When he had his coffee, I walked over and said something rather silly:

“You should run for mayor of Guadalajara.”

She laughed.

We exchange phone numbers.

Two weeks later, we were officially dating.

Back then, everything felt right.

Isabela was studying graphic design at the University of Guadalajara and doing freelance work to earn extra money. She always talked about her dream of one day opening her own creative studio, working with big brands in Mexico City, and changing the way people viewed design.

I loved listening to his dreams.

It made me want to work harder, save more money, and build a future we could share.

When her old laptop finally died in our second year together, I helped her pick out a new one.

It wasn’t cheap.

But seeing her face light up when she opened the box made every extra hour I worked worth it.

When he wanted to rent a small studio in Zapopan to work in, he spent three weekends building shelves, installing lights, and fixing the electrical system.

I thought we were a team.

I thought we were building something beautiful together.

But around the fourth year, something began to change.

It took hours to respond to my messages. Sometimes even a whole day.

When I asked her if she wanted to go out to dinner on Friday nights, eat tacos al pastor, or walk downtown, she almost always said that she already had plans with friends, a meeting with clients, or that she was just too tired.

There was always an excuse.

I didn’t want to be the kind of boyfriend who complains all the time.

So I kept quiet.

I tried to try harder.

He would bring her sushi, which was his favorite, to his studio, surprise her with concert tickets by Mexican indie bands he mentioned he liked, or plan weekend trips to Lake Chapala or the mountains near Tapalpa.

But it felt like I was the only one paddling.

Like I was paddling the boat while she just sat looking at her phone.

After five years together, I started talking about the idea of living together.

It seemed like a natural next step.

We were both adults.

We had stable jobs.

We loved each other.

So why not bring our lives together?

But every time he mentioned the idea, she had a strange expression.

His shoulders tightened.

His smile disappeared.

It said things like:

“I’m not ready for that commitment.”
“I need my independence.”
“I need to focus on building my career first.

I tried to understand.

I tried to be patient.

But deep down I began to feel that I was waiting for someone who would never be ready.

As if he were standing in front of a door that would never open.

Then came last Friday.

Around six in the evening, she called me.

His voice sounded strange.

Distant.

“Daniel… can you come? We have to talk.

Those five words.

Everyone knows what they mean.

Nothing good comes after those words.

I drove to his studio in Zapopan with my hands shaking on the steering wheel.

I tried to prepare for whatever was going to happen.

But how do you prepare for something like this?

When I arrived, she was sitting on her gray couch with her arms crossed over her chest.

He didn’t even look at me when I walked in.

He just stared at the wall as if there was something fascinating written on it.

I sat in the chair in front of her and waited.

The silence spread so long that he could hear the hum of the refrigerator in his small kitchen.

Finally he took a deep breath and spoke.

“Daniel… I can’t go on with this.

I felt as if someone had squeezed my heart with their hand.

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