I met him during a rainy afternoon at the bus stop. He offered me half of his umbrella, and my foolish heart mistook generosity for destiny. By the time we got into the bus, I already had his number and the softest smile on my face.

He was charming, funny, and always broke, the dangerous combination that feels romantic at first. He’d say, “Baby, I don’t have much, but I have love.” I didn’t realize love can charge your phone or pay for shawarma.

One weekend, he came over “to spend time.” He ate, he slept, he used my data to stream football, and when he was leaving, he said, “Babe, let me borrow your power bank, I’ll return it tomorrow.”

Tomorrow turned to next week. Next week turned to ghost mode. The boy vanished like network during heavy rain. No calls, no messages, no goodbye  just silence and one missing power bank.

Three months later, I saw his WhatsApp story. My power bank was right there beside another girl’s hand in a picture.

I didn’t cry. I just whispered to myself,

 “At least something I gave him is still useful.”