The Same Photo For A Year

For three hundred and sixty-two days, I have texted my boyfriend the exact same photo as a daily check-in. He still hasnt noticed.

Other messages quickly buried the photo I just sent, rolling up and off the screen.

My roommate leaned over my shoulder, her eyes wide with disbelief. Is Gilbert literally blind? Youve sent him the exact same picture of your lunch for almost a year, and he hasnt noticed once?

A year ago, he asked me what I was having for lunch. I snapped a quick, nondescript photo of a turkey panini and a side salad and sent it over.

He told me to keep doing itto send him a daily update of my meals so hed know I was eating well.

But Ive sent that exact same photo three hundred and sixty-two times since. He hasn't tapped to enlarge it once.

I typed another message below the photo: Out at that bistro with Erica today.

His reply came instantly. Erica hates onions. Why didnt you ask them to take them off her plate?

Of course. The moment Ericas name entered the conversation, his attention to detail became razor-sharp.

Weve been together for a year, yet he knows my best friend's quirks and preferences infinitely better than my own.

Every time we planned a weekend trip or a night out, he only agreed to come if Erica was joining us.

Even at our university's career fair, he went out of his way to hand-deliver Ericas resume to an alumnus he was close with at a top firm.

"Ericas resume isn't as strong as yours," hed told me casually when I asked why he hadn't done the same for me. "Youve got the GPA to get hired anywhere on your own."

So Erica got the offer. She walked right into the same corporate office as Gilbert, working just down the hall from him.

I was rejected, landing a role at a firm on the opposite side of the city. Seeing Gilbert became a logistical chore, a trek across heavy traffic.

Meanwhile, he and Erica commuted together every single day, sharing morning coffees and evening rides.

Im organizing a dinner with our college friends this weekend, I texted him. Can you make it?

Can't do it, he shot back. Its Erica's birthday this weekend. Why would you even schedule it for then?

He had completely forgotten.

That Saturday was our one-year anniversary. It was also the day my wager with Erica would expirethe day I was supposed to leave him.

Gilberts messages popped up in rapid succession.

And you call yourself her best friend. How do you not even remember her birthday?

Reschedule the dinner with your friends. Were celebrating Erica this weekend.

I couldn't reschedule the dinner. It wasn't just a casual get-together; it was my farewell party. I had quietly accepted a three-year transfer to our London office. When I returned, it would be with a guaranteed promotion to regional director.

A year ago, on Erica's birthday, her wish over the blown-out candles had been to end up with Gilbert. I remember the flickering warm light on her face, and how her eyes had swollen red with tears when she confronted me afterward, asking why I had confessed my feelings to him first. I hadn't known. I had absolutely no idea we were in love with the same man. I had felt so horribly guilty, so deeply apologetic.

Erica had pointed at my glowing phone screen. "If you text him the exact same photo every day for a year and he never notices, it means he doesn't really look at you. If he doesn't notice, you let him go, and let me have my chance. Deal?"

It sounded absurd at the time. I wanted to laugh. Who could possibly go a whole year without noticing their partner was sending the exact same picture? So, I had smiled and nodded, confident in my relationship.

But I had been incredibly, foolishly naive. Gilbert had made sure I lost the bet in the most devastating way possible.

I went to put my phone down to continue packing my suitcases, but the screen lit up again. It was a message from Erica: Three days left on our bet!

She didn't need to remind me. I had long realized this was a game I had already lost. That was why I hadn't invited her to the farewell dinner. Our friendship, once so open and effortless, had deteriorated into something sharp, fragile, and distant. I didn't know how to look her in the eye and say goodbye.

When I didnt reply to his texts, Gilberts incoming call screen flashed.

"What are you doing? Why aren't you replying?"

His tone was sharp, a demand rather than a genuine inquiry. He wasn't worried about my well-being; he was simply irritated by the delay. He expected immediate compliance.

He didn't even wait for me to answer. "You can hang out with your college friends anytime. We all live in the same city; you can see them whenever. Ericas birthday only happens once a year."

I stared at my flight itinerary on my desk. Even though we lived in the same city, the last time we had seen each other in person was three months ago. He always blamed it on worklate nights, deadlines, climbing the corporate ladder.

"I'm doing this for us," hed say. "If I don't grind now, how am I going to afford a ring and a house for us?"

An empty, glittering promise used as a shield to avoid a forty-minute drive to see me. Yet, he always found the time to travel to Chicago for a three-day marketing seminar because Erica needed a senior mentor to accompany her.

I knew the answer, but a pathetic, stubborn part of me still needed to ask.

"Gilbert... do you know what day it is in three days?"

"Erica's birthday. What else would it be?" He sounded entirely dismissive, moving briskly to his next point. "Just make sure you buy her a nice gift. I already booked the restaurant and ordered the cake." He let out a dry laugh. "Honestly, you're her best friend and you're this hands-off. Good thing I'm here to handle the details."

I swallowed the sudden lump of bitterness in my throat. On my birthday last month, he had told me he had to work late. I had driven down to his office downtown, booked a table at a bistro nearby, and waited in my car until he finally logged off. He had forgotten to order a cake, grabbing a dry, single-slice cupcake from a grocery store counter on his way out. I had been visibly upset that night, and we hadn't spoken for three days afterward. He had complained to his friends that I was high-maintenance and didn't understand the pressure he was under.

Yet, for Erica, he remembered everything. He planned everything.

"I'll have a gift for her," I said quietly.

Hearing this, Gilbert finally seemed satisfied. Without another word of inquiry about my day or my health, he hung up.

I stared at my call history. His name appeared so infrequently it looked like the contact log of a distant acquaintance. Our last call before today had been a month ago, when Erica fainted at work due to severe menstrual cramps. Gilbert had panicked, rushing her to the ER in a frantic state. He had called me from the waiting room, his voice shaking, asking what medication she usually took for pain. I had never heard him sound so terrified, so desperately anxious.

A few months prior, I had fallen off a step-stool while cleaning my apartment windows, fracturing my ankle and spending a week in the hospital. Gilbert hadn't shown up until the second evening.

"How do you manage to break a bone just cleaning a window?" he had muttered, setting down a cheap bouquet of supermarket flowers. "You're so clumsy."

He stayed for exactly thirty minutes before his phone buzzed with a work question from Erica. He left in a hurry to help her iron out a proposal. He never visited me again during my recovery.

I reached for the beautifully wrapped gift box sitting beside my suitcase. I did have a gift for Erica. We had been best friends for over a decade, growing up on the same tree-lined street, sharing lockers, sharing secrets. I used to think what we had was unbreakable. I used to start planning her birthday gifts six months in advance, sourcing rare books or handmade jewelry. I thought wed be doing this when we were grey and old.

I didn't realize this would be the final one.

My transfer paperwork was complete. The HR department had already signed off, granting me a week of paid leave to pack before my flight.

I was at a local boutique picking out small parting gifts for our college friends when my phone rang. It was Derek, our former class president, who was coordinating the dinner.

"Hey, Melissa. Gilbert called me earlier and said we need to cancel the dinner this Saturday? Does this mean you're staying? Are you guys finally getting engaged or something?" Derek's tone was teasing, though I could hear a faint trace of disappointment.

Back in college, I had graduated top of our major. Everyone assumed Id easily land a spot at the prestigious consultancy firm alongside Gilbert. But during the final round, something shifted behind closed doors. Gilberts uncle was a senior partner there, and somehow, Erica ended up with the position instead of me.

Everyone in our department had been shocked, but we were quickly learning that the corporate world cared very little about grade point averages compared to personal connections. I had swallowed my pride, taken a role at a smaller competitor, and worked my way up through sheer grit. But I never expected Gilbert to take it upon himself to call Derek and cancel my own send-off party.

I swallowed the tightness in my throat, forcing my voice to remain steady. "No, nothing like that. Gilbert just won't be able to make it himself. The dinner is still on. My flights are already booked, Derek."

Derek sounded confused, but he had the grace not to pry. "Alright, then. We'll see you Saturday at seven."

After hanging up, I took my items to the counter. As the cashier was ringing them up, a familiar laugh echoed from the high-end boutique across the atrium.

"Will that be all for today, ma'am?" the cashier asked, her polite voice snapping me out of my trance.

I looked across the mall. Gilbert was standing outside a luxury shoe store, carrying three large shopping bags. Erica was beside him, holding a designer coat against herself, looking up at him with a bright, radiant smile.

How rare.

In our year of dating, I could count the times he had accompanied me to a mall on one hand. Even then, hed set a strict timer. Twenty minutes, max.

"If you know what you need, just buy it and let's go," he would grumble, checking his watch. "What's the point of wandering around aimlessly?"

But now, watching him lean against a railing, patiently waiting as Erica tried on different outfits, it was clear his patience wasn't short. It was just reserved entirely for her.

I paid for my items and turned toward the escalators, hoping to slip away unnoticed.

"Melissa!" Ericas voice carried over the ambient mall music, sharp and clear.

Several shoppers turned their heads, and I had no choice but to stop and turn around.

Gilbert approached, his eyes dropping to the boutique bags in my hands. "Is that Erica's gift?"

I shook my head slightly. "No. These are just some things for the weekend."

His brow furrowed immediately, a familiar look of disapproval settling over his face. "I thought I told you to get her gift ready. You're always focusing on your own things."

The casual sting of his rebuke made my chest tighten. He spoke with the easy authority of someone who had entirely forgotten whose boyfriend he actually was.

Erica nudged his arm, looking at him with gentle reproach. "Stop it, Gilbert. Melissa probably bought my gift weeks ago. Right, Ly?" She gave me a playful, knowing wink, playing the role of the peacemaker perfectly.

Gilbert let out a soft sigh, his expression softening as he looked down at her. "You always defend her, Erica. But look at hershe didn't even remember your birthday until I brought it up."

"How could I forget a day this important?" I said, my voice flat, devoid of any anger.

The day I confessed my feelings to him. Our one-year anniversary. The day I officially conceded the wager. But in Gilberts mind, the only significance of this date belonged to Erica.

Gilbert scoffed. "Sure. If I hadn't reminded you, you'd be off having dinner with Derek and the others."

Ericas eyes widened slightly in surprise. "A reunion dinner? You didn't tell me about that." She looked at me, her expression instantly shifting to one of hurt. "Melissa, are you mad at me? I feel like you've been so distant lately. You never have time to hang out anymore. Gilbert's the only one who ever keeps me company these days."

"I've been very busy," I replied quietly. And soon, I won't have any time for you at all, I added in my head.

Besides, she didn't need my company anymore. She had already replaced me with my own boyfriend.

Seeing the disappointment on Ericas face, Gilbert quickly stepped in to comfort her. "Well, her office is all the way uptown now. Its naturally harder for her to make the drive than it is for me."

Ericas smile returned, bright and easy. "Yeah, that's true."

I watched them stand there, their shoulders brushing. Even though I had spent months preparing myself for this, the sight still carved a cold, hollow space in my chest. It felt like standing in an open field in dead winter, watching the wind carry away the last remnants of my twentiesmy best friend and my first real loveleaving me entirely bare.

My phone vibrated in my hand with a notificationmy boarding pass confirmation for London.

Gilbert caught a glimpse of the screen. "An airline confirmation? You going on a business trip?"

I didn't answer, letting the silence serve as a quiet affirmation. He didn't press further anyway; it was just a passing thought. He had always been this wayasking questions about my life out of habit, never actually waiting for the answers.

By the time we walked out of the mall, a torrential downpour had started. I was waiting under the awning for an Uber when Gilbert's dark sedan pulled up to the curb. The passenger window rolled down.

"Get in," Gilbert called out. "We can drop you off on our way."

Erica was sitting in the passenger seat, looking out at me with a warm smile. On our way. The words felt like a small, sharp twist of a knife. But what made me freeze entirely was the small, playful decal on the passenger-side dashboard: Reserved for the Girlfriend.

I stood there, paralyzed, as rain began to splatter against my shoes.

Behind Gilbert's car, a taxi honked impatiently. Gilbert glared at me through the windshield. "Come on, Melissa, you're blocking traffic. Get in."

"No, thanks," I said.

I turned, stepping out from under the dry awning, and ran straight into the pouring rain toward a yellow cab that had just pulled up down the block.

The rain caught up to me. By the next morning, I was running a high fever, my joints aching under the blankets. My mother called me on FaceTime to check in on my packing progress.

"Oh, sweetie, you look terrible," she said, squinting at the screen. "Where's Gilbert? Shouldn't he be there taking care of you?"

She paused, her expression turning tentative. "Is he... is he upset about the London transfer? Does he think three years is too long to wait?"

When Gilbert and I first started dating, I had called her immediately, bubbling over with excitement. I had spent three years of college harboring a quiet, desperate crush on him, and when he finally asked me out, it felt like a miracle. Back then, I was naive enough to believe in happily-ever-afters.

I shook my head on the pillow. "We actually broke up, Mom."

My mother sighed, a soft, sympathetic sound. "Oh, honey. I'm sorry. But you're so young. There are plenty of good men in England. You'll find someone who deserves you."

I offered a weak smile. Maybe she was right. But this relationship had cost me both my love and my longest friendship in one swift blow. Sometimes, in the quietest hours of the night, I wished I could go back to the afternoon I confessed to him on the university quad. If I could, I would have kept my mouth shut.

But regrets are just ghosts.

Later that afternoon, an email arrived from the London office with transition documents. I tried to read through the first few pages, but the letters swam together, my head throbbing.

A knock sounded at my apartment door. Assuming it was the pharmacy delivery Id ordered, I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and dragged myself out of bed.

I opened the door to find Gilbert standing on the welcome mat.

He didn't wait for an invitation, stepping past me into the entryway with a flat pastry box and a bouquet of flowers.

"I knew you were acting weird lately," he said, setting the items on my kitchen island. "If Erica hadn't reminded me, I honestly would have missed it."

He turned to face me, a defensive edge to his voice. "If you wanted to do something for our anniversary, you should have just said so instead of playing these passive-aggressive games."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Erica actually canceled her birthday dinner plans for Saturday so I could spend the weekend with you. I figured, since it's only a one-day difference, I'd come over tonight and get this done early."

I stayed by the door, holding the blanket tight. "Why didn't you just celebrate her birthday early instead?"

His hands paused over the bakery box. He looked at me, his voice tightening. "People don't celebrate birthdays early, Melissa. Besides, an anniversary is just a date on a calendar. What difference does it make which day we celebrate, as long as I'm here?"

It made all the difference in the world.

He spent every single day with Erica. Yet our one milestone required my best friend's permission, and his presence felt like a chore he was checking off his list.

I pulled the front door wide open. "I don't want to celebrate. You should go."

Gilbert stepped closer, reaching out to wrap his arm around my shoulders. I stepped back, evading his touch.

His expression softened slightly, adopting a patronizing tone. "Come on, Lyd. Stop being dramatic. If I actually leave, youre just going to lock yourself in here and cry."

I looked down at the hardwood floor.

Erica was the one who cried when things went wrong. I had never once let myself cry in front of him. Perhaps that was why he assumed I was indestructiblethat I didn't need comforting, that I could handle everything on my own.

The truth was, whenever I actually wanted to cry, he was never there to see it. He certainly wouldn't have rushed over to stop it.

I looked up, meeting his eyes. "Gilbert... do you ever regret saying yes when I asked you out?"

If he had said no back then, Erica would have confessed her feelings next. If he were Erica's boyfriend, would he treat her the way he treated me?

He frowned, seemingly taken aback by the question. He hesitated, then shook his head. "No. I remember how nervous you looked when you handed me that cup of coffee at the library. I thought you were sweet." He waved his hand dismissively. "Stop overthinking things."

He opened the bakery box, pulling out a small cake and sliding a single candle into the frosting. "You made a big deal about me forgetting the cake on your birthday, so see? I got you a cake and flowers this time."

I looked at the counter.

The cake was strawberry chiffonEricas favorite.

The bouquet was pink rosesalso Erica's favorite.

There was no warmth in my chest, only a dull, nauseating ache. My head throbbed violently.

Gilbert lit the candle, then immediately pulled out his phone. He snapped a quick photo of the cake and the flowers, his thumbs flying across the screen.

I caught a glimpse of his chat with Erica.

Mission accomplished, he had texted her, followed by a playful puppy emoji.

It was all just a task to him. A favor he was performing to appease Ericas conscience.

"If Erica asked you to break up with me," I asked quietly, "would you do that too?"

Gilbert stared at me, his eyes wide with incredulity. "How can you be so cynical about her? Erica spends half her time reminding me to call you and buy you things. She's the one who remembered our anniversary and made me get the cake. Shes constantly looking out for you, and you treat her like shes some kind of enemy."

I gave him a tired, empty smile. "Maybe I'm just petty like that."

Another knock sounded at the door. This time, it was the courier with my fever medicine.

I signed for the delivery and took the brown paper bag. Seeing the logo of the local pharmacy, Gilbert finally seemed to notice my pale face and glassy eyes.

"Are you sick?" he asked, stepping forward and reaching out to touch my forehead.

I slammed the door shut, locking it in his face.

Outside, the delivery courier was walking down the hall, muttering under his stomach, "Bro doesn't even know his own girl has a fever. Unreal."

Gilberts pride was wounded. He knocked on the heavy wood several times, his voice muffled but sharp. "Melissa! Open the door. Take your medicine. And don't forgettomorrow at seven, were celebrating Ericas birthday at the Aventine. Don't be late."

Eventually, the sound of his footsteps faded down the corridor.

I walked back to the kitchen, scooped up the strawberry cake and the pink roses, and tossed them directly into the trash can.

The next morning, my phone buzzed with a text from Gilbert.

Room 203 at the Aventine Grill. Seven sharp. Don't forget.

I stared at the screen, a dry laugh escaping my lips. It felt like a joke designed by fate itself. My farewell dinner with our college friends was booked at the exact same venuein Room 204.

I arrived at the restaurant early, carrying a small tote of wrapped gifts for the group. Our friends knew about my impending departure, and when they saw me walk in without Gilbert, they exchanged quiet glances but had the decency not to ask. My phone kept vibrating in my pocket with incoming texts from him. I ignored every single one.

As the dinner drew to a close, Derek pointed to a beautifully wrapped, heavy box sitting on the edge of the table. "Hey, Melissa, didn't you hand out all the parting gifts? Who's that last one for?"

I flagged down our server. "Could you do me a favor? Please deliver this to the table in Room 203. Just tell them its a birthday gift from Melissa, and that I couldn't stay."

The server nodded and took the box.

Derek nudged my shoulder gently. "You and Gilbert having a rough patch?"

"We broke up," I said simply.

Through the thin walls, the faint, joyous chords of "Happy Birthday" drifted over from the adjacent room, followed by Ericas delighted laughter. My presence had never been necessary at that table anyway.

When our party finally broke up and we walked out into the corridor, a few of our friends stopped outside Room 203, looking through the glass door.

"Wait, isn't that Gilbert and Erica?" someone whispered.

They turned back to look at me, their expressions a mix of confusion and awkwardness. "Melissa... I thought you and Erica were practically sisters. Why is she in there with him instead of out here with us?"

The question hung in the air, answerless, though the reality of it was obvious to everyone in the hall.

"It's fine," I said quietly, adjusting my purse strap. "That's all in the past now."

My feelings for Gilbert, my decade of friendship with Ericathey were all just relics of a life I was leaving behind.

I left the restaurant, took a cab back to my apartment, picked up my suitcases, and headed straight to the airport.

After clearing security, I sat at the gate and opened my text thread with Gilbert.

We're done, I typed. Goodbye.

I popped the SIM card out of my phone, held it in my palm alongside the thin silver necklace he had bought me for our six-month anniversarythe only piece of jewelry hed ever given meand dropped them both into the recycling bin near the boarding gate.