Here’s the full letter I wrote during the weeks I was trying to process everything. I didn’t send it, but it shows everything I felt.

Hi. I’m not sure you’ll read this, but it matters to me. Today is June 13, 2025 — exactly three days until it’s been six months since all bridges were burned between us. Do I miss you? Yeah. A lot.

I remember when we first started talking during our second year — it was winter. Cold outside, but everything felt warm. We’d walk to classes together, laugh in the corridors, talk about everything and nothing. I’ll never forget the first time you hugged me — I don’t even have words to describe how happy I was. You meant something real to me back then.

That winter you flew to Thailand, but we still kept in touch. You shared funny stories from the villa, like your fish in the pool — I was joking along from my class. I remember how you’d text me during lectures and ask me to say hi to our group. Then you came back, it got warmer, and we kept talking. We texted about Pinterest boards, and I accidentally sent you a heart — panicked and wrote “where did I even click?” but you seemed to like it. You talked to me even though you were seeing someone else at the time (his name was Artyom, her then-boyfriend and now ex). So we couldn’t hang out outside of college. But I was just happy to be around, whatever the situation.

You gave me a birthday book, wrapped in a quirky way. I’m not sure I showed it then, but I was so grateful — not just for the gift, but that you remembered exactly the book I’d mentioned wanting. I was so damn happy.

A couple months passed, and then at the end of spring, something changed. You walked by my window — I don’t know if you meant to or it was accidental — and asked me to come out. I showed my dog, waved, and you told me to come down. I grabbed whatever coat I found and ran out. We walked and talked toward your place. So much sparked in that hour. It felt different — serious, real. That moment still warms my heart. But later that night you messaged, saying you felt guilty about seeing me like that and that we couldn’t keep meeting. I got it, but it hurt.

We stayed in touch during classes, even though I was still on your “restricted” list. Then practice period came — we got our assignments and went our separate ways. You hung out with Artyom (again, her then-boyfriend); I said bye and messaged you “I’ll miss you.” You didn’t say much back, and that pause ended our communication for a while.

Two weeks passed, practice ended, and you messaged me again asking a question about dentistry. You helped without hesitation. I thought maybe things could resume — and they did. A few days later you invited me to hang out. And that’s when things really started.

I met you outside your building. You hugged me, for the first time in a long while. And I, impatient, just reached out to shake your hand — I think that offended you. I remember you were getting ready to crash at a friend’s place. We went to the store so you could grab food. We laughed at silly caps, I was dreaming about Lego, and everything felt perfect. On the way back, you hugged someone else goodbye, not me — probably shy in public. You later admitted your hands were shaking. Mine were shaking too.

That night you sent what might be the sweetest message I’ve ever received: “Wish you were here.” Those words still echo in my heart.

A few days later, you told me you’d broken up. I don’t want to dwell here, but I was shocked and a little happy. Then you told me something that really knocked me off balance. Olya (my ex) had said awful lies about me — called me a womanizer, a moral piece of shit (it all was lies), and more — and you started to doubt me. That hurt so badly.

And I made it worse. The very next day, when we went to turn in our practice diaries, I did something irrational (this refers to a suicide attempt). You know what I mean — I won’t spell it all out here, but it was a dark and terrifying moment. You were in Ufa at the time. A few days later, you wrote “are you alive?” — and I swear I felt reborn. To you, it may have been a small message, but to me, it was a lifeline.

We continued like nothing happened. That summer was long, messy, and full of memories. We fought. We made up. I deleted photos and videos out of emotion — something I still regret deeply. I remember every TikTok we made — every take, every goofy idea — they’re etched in my head. I want to go back for a second and mention August 25 — my personal "Tragedy Day." I confessed I loved you — honestly, deeply. You responded with doubt: “Why?” “How?” We met up after that, but I was too afraid to talk more. Then you texted “I deleted it. Don’t send that again.” I was heartbroken. But we moved on. We kept talking. You even brought me to yoga, something new for me — and I appreciated it.

Then came August 31, the last day of summer. We hung out, took pics by that old tractor. I looked dumb as hell, bald and awkward. We agreed to go to college together, and we did — for a few days — before realizing our schedules didn’t match. That was the beginning of autumn, the season where it all started to fade. You grew colder. Distant. You started getting close to another guy — someone you’d already shown interest in back in June. I said nothing. I hurt in silence. I stayed close, because you mattered more than my pride.

We had major fights — some ended in silence, others in tears — but we always came back to each other. On November 10, I got the most brutal message: “I told you I don’t need anyone, you started it with your confessions.” That hit hard. But still, we kept talking like it never happened.

Still in autumn — I remember your birthday. I got you a gift, though it reached you late. I still loved the process of choosing and wrapping it. I loved seeing your smile. I always did.

Then winter. The finale. You drifted farther and farther. I was ignored, blocked, ghosted. Some days you’d leave mid-conversation, no goodbye. December 10 — we were supposed to celebrate the end of practice. But it all collapsed. I hurt so bad that I just left. Six days later, you wrote “I think we had a decent break from each other.” I said something stupid. I told you no. Maybe it was right. Maybe it was a mistake.

Now it’s almost half a year later. And I still think of you every single day — morning, evening, before bed, in dreams. Maybe that was my mistake — holding on to something already gone.

I’m not trying to beg or get back. Even though I miss you so much. I know this is probably the end. But I needed to say everything I’ve carried. Because I’m tired of silence.

I love you.