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... very day, slower than usual, backpack half-zipped, hands shoved into his hoodie like they could hide him from the world. The streets were quiet, touched by orange dusk, but inside his chest? Chaos.

He was just... drifting. Hoodie still on. The glittery "Her Boy" lettering caught the dying sun like a curse stamped on his chest. He didn't care anymore. Let them laugh. Let them stare.

He kept replaying it. Her voice, her face, the crowd, that damn sentence.

"You believed the ...

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