Casually Cruel
Twenty days. Twenty days until the end of three long, aching months. And yet another storm was already tearing apart what little was left of Freen and Becky’s fragile castle—a home they had built out of shared promises and stubborn hope, only to watch the cracks splinter wider with every passing day.
The world has always been cruel. But Becky never expected it would be this cruel.
Because the truth didn’t come in Freen’s voice. It didn’t arrive in a call, or a trembling late-night voice note, or the soft way Freen used to say her name like it was sacred.
No. The truth came in bold, screaming letters on her screen.
“Freen Chankimha signs another major film in England! Looks like England is treating her talent well!”
Becky blinked. Once. Twice. Her fingers frozen in mid-scroll. For a fleeting second, she thought it was a prank—some recycled article from the last film Freen had signed.
She closed the tab. Opened another. Searched for Freen's name manually.
There it was again.
And again.
And again.
Dozens of articles, glowing with praise.
Excitement. Applause.
Smiling headlines and fan edits already circulating on social media.
And with each one, something in Becky fractured.
Because this wasn’t how she was supposed to find out. This wasn’t how they were supposed to end.
The last thing she had been holding onto—the only fragile hope she hadn’t let go of—was that they would go home together. That these three months apart, despite everything—the silence, the distance, the quiet erosion of touch and time—would end with them side by side again, breathing the same air, waking up in the same bed, laughing over something dumb like they used to.
She had counted down the days.
She had made playlists.
Saved memes she thought Freen would laugh at.
She had waited, patiently, for a love that once promised it would always circle back home.
But now?
Now Freen was staying. And Becky didn’t even know when that decision had been made.
She wasn’t angry that Freen chose the film. She would never ask Freen to choose her over her dreams. She loved that Freen was thriving.
But she had wanted to be told.
She had wanted to matter enough to be included in the decision.
To be seen.
To be heard.
To not be blindsided by strangers who knew more about Freen’s plans than she, the person Freen claimed to love, did.
The betrayal wasn’t in the staying.It was in the silence.
Becky scrolled until her eyes stung, article after article blurring into one giant wound.
Her hands trembled.
Her stomach twisted.
And her mind—her poor, aching, overthinking mind—kept playing that moment on loop:
“Just a little longer, baby. We’ll go home together. Just hold on.”
Freen had said it.
Whispered it into Becky’s hair while brushing her thumb across her cheek.
Written it in messages late at night when Becky had broken down from exhaustion.
Promised it in the soft space between their kisses, in the pauses between I miss you and soon.
Becky had held on. With every part of her. She had fought the silence, fought the doubt, fought the loneliness that gnawed at her ribs every night.
And this is how it ends?
Not with a conversation. Not with a goodbye. But with a headline.
Her knees gave out beneath her as she dropped onto the edge of her bed, her phone clutched so tightly it might crack under the pressure. She stared at the screen until it blurred, until her chest felt too tight to breathe.
A sob escaped before she could swallow it.
Raw.
Ugly.
Real.
Tears spilled silently down her cheeks as her thumb hovered over Freen’s name in her messages.
The last unread message from her sat there like a ghost.
“Miss you. Are you free to call tonight?”
Sent.
Delivered.
Never opened.
Becky didn’t think.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t trust herself to say anything more than the one word that clawed its way up her throat.
“Congratulations.”
She typed it out.
No emoji. No exclamation mark. No “I’m proud of you.” No “I’ll be waiting.”
Just cold, stripped-down finality.
She hit send.
And then?
She waited. For a reply. For the typing bubble. For anything.
But the screen remained still. Blank. Silent.
And Becky, with her heart cracked open in her chest, sat in the quiet of her childhood bedroom, realizing that maybe the silence wasn’t temporary this time.
Maybe this—
the unread message, the unanswered pain— was the end she had been too afraid to admit was coming.
And still, she waited. Because even the heartbroken can’t stop hoping. Even when they know better.
_____________
Freen saw the message the moment she finally got free which was late at night.
“Congratulations.” From Becky. No punctuation. No heart. No smile. Just... emptiness.
Freen’s stomach dropped.
She knew. God, Becky knew.
And the coldness in that message—Freen felt it like a slap. Not from anger, but from the quiet kind of heartbreak, the kind that screamed you didn’t even tell me yourself.
Her fingers tightened around the phone as dread surged like a wave, heavy and inescapable.
How had Becky found out?
She hadn’t told anyone yet. The contracts had only just been finalized this morning. The ink was barely dry. She’d been planning—waiting—for the right moment to call, to explain everything. She had rehearsed it in her head, word for word. A soft “Hey, baby, I have something important to tell you,” followed by reassurances, plans, hope.
But it was too late.
Because Freen opened Instagram. And Twitter. And TikTok. And there it was. Flooding her feed.
Articles, edits, hashtags, fan pages—“Freen Chankimha signs legendary new role!” Comments cheering her on, photos from outside the agency building, even clips from earlier interviews she hadn’t known were recorded. Her dream spread across the internet like wildfire.
And all she could think was—Becky must have seen it before she heard it from me.
The bile rose in her throat.
Of course Becky would think the worst.
That Freen had gone behind her back.
That she had made her decision alone.
And the worst part? It looked that way.
Freen knew Becky must think that Freen had broken another promise. That she had chosen the career over her. That she was moving forward while Becky was still standing in the ruins of what they used to be.
Whereas it was just another six-month project, set to begin filming next year—giving Freen and Becky a six-month gap in between. Freen had already planned everything carefully: Becky would complete her internship, Freen would wrap up all her projects in here, and they would return to Thailand together until the new project began. Only after ensuring that everything was aligned did Freen sign the contract.
And she had only done so because it was her dream role—playing a warrior queen, a role Becky knew meant everything to her. Freen had genuinely believed Becky would be happy for her, excited even.
But instead, everything had shattered.
And somehow, it felt worse than she had ever imagined.
So she didn’t waste a second. She grabbed her phone, hands unsteady, and called.
No answer.
She tried again.
And again.
The fourth time, Becky finally picked up.
But she didn’t say a word.
"Baby—”
“Don’t.”
Becky’s voice was hoarse, raw—like she had been crying, or worse, holding everything in. It was the kind of voice that carried a storm, the kind Freen had only heard once before, on the night Becky had first told her she was scared of losing her.
“Don’t call me that right now.”
Freen felt her stomach sink. This was bad.
“Babe, please,” she tried again, gentler this time, careful—like speaking too loud might shatter whatever fragile thing was left between them. “I swear I was going to tell you myself. I didn’t know it was already out—”
Becky let out a short, humorless laugh, the sound cold enough to sting.
“Oh, right. You were going to tell me?” Becky scoffed. “When, Freen? After you signed the contract? After you packed your bags for another location? Maybe when you were already in vogue, draped over your co-star for another interview where the whole world gets to see how well you two get along?”
Freen stilled.
So that was it.
It wasn’t just the project.
It was the headlines, the rumors, the clips of her and her co-star smiling at each other like they had nothing else in the world to care about. Freen had brushed it off, ignored the noise, and convinced herself that Becky knew better.
But maybe that was the problem.
And now, Becky had to watch the whole world fall in love with the idea of Freen with someone else.
Freen ran a hand through her hair, biting down her frustration. “Bec, come on. It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?” Becky demanded, voice rising. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly like that! You’re staying, Freen. Again. You’re choosing this—the movies, the spotlight, the distance. And you didn’t even think I deserved to know?”
Freen swallowed hard. “I was going to tell you! I just… I didn’t get the chance yet.”
Becky let out a sharp breath. “Didn’t get the chance or didn’t think it was important enough to make the time?”
Freen’s breath hitched.
Because that was it, wasn’t it? That was the wound Becky had been nursing, the fear she wouldn’t say out loud.
It wasn’t just the project. It wasn’t just the distance.
It was that Becky was no longer sure if she mattered enough.
Freen squeezed her eyes shut, guilt clawing at her ribs. “Babe…” Her voice softened, cracking under the weight of it all. “It has time to start, we will have time in between and I said yes coz you know this is my dream role. You know how much I’ve always wanted to do something like this. I thought you’d be happy for me.”
Becky broke.
Her voice cracked when she whispered, “You thought I’d be happy?”
Freen winced. “I—I didn’t mean it like that—”
“No, you did,” Becky cut in, her breath shaky. “You thought I’d be happy watching you chase your dreams while leaving us behind. Watching you break every single promise you made to me and expect me to just… smile and accept it? What about our career together back in thailand, what about our fans who are waiting for our return and who are exactly as hurt as I am right now watching you get shipped with someone else? ”
Freen opened her mouth, but no words came.
Because what was she supposed to say? That she had been scared to tell Becky? That deep down, she knew this role meant she was signing up for another 6 months away from becky.
Or worse—that maybe, just maybe, part of her had known that choosing this meant losing Becky?
Becky let out another laugh—this time, softer, more fragile. And somehow, that hurt more.
“Tell me something, Freen.” Becky’s voice was quieter now, a little more broken. “Did you even think about me when you said yes?”
Freen’s chest tightened. “Becky—”
“Did you?”
Freen hesitated.
And Becky exhaled sharply, like she had just been punched in the gut.
“That’s what I thought.”
Freen’s voice cracked. “I swear. I didn’t mean for you to find out like that. I—I just needed time to—”
“Time?” Becky cut in, her tone sharp and bitter. “Time to figure out how to lie to me gently?”
“No! Becky, I wasn’t trying to lie—”
“Then what were you doing, Freen?” she snapped. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you were planning a whole future without me while I was still holding onto the one we promised each other.”
Freen's voice rose, raw and breaking. “That’s not true! I was going to tell you. I just… I needed the pieces in place first. I was thinking of us, I swear I was.”
Becky laughed again, but it was hollow now—no humor, only disbelief. “You don’t get to say that, not when you let strangers celebrate your decision before I even knew it existed.”
Freen’s hands shook and tears rolled down freen’s eyes. “Bec my BB, I love you.”
Becky was silent for a moment.
Then, softly—so soft it nearly killed Freen—she whispered, “Then why does it feel like you already don’t?”
Freen felt something inside her shatter.
“Please,” she pleaded, voice barely above a breath. “We can fix this. We always do.”
Becky didn’t answer.
And for the first time, it felt like she had stopped believing that.
Desperate, Freen whispered the only thing she knew for sure.
“I love you Becky.”
For a moment, the silence stretched, heavy and unbearable.
Then—click.
Becky had hung up.
Freen stared at her screen, at the empty call, at the silence where Becky’s voice should have been.
And for the first time, Freen realized—
Becky wasn’t just hurt.
She was done.
🎶 And you call me up again just to break me like a promise
So casually cruel in the name of bein' honest
I'm a crumpled-up piece of paper lyin' here
'Cause I remember it all, all, all…… 🎶