1 Before the birthday party even officially started, Elena mirrored her phone to the massive LED screen in our private lounge. She opened our “Inner Circle” group chat and launched an anonymous poll. The prompt read: Tonight, should I stay to blow out the candles with my boyfriend, or go to the midnight premiere with my best friend? A thirty-second countdown appeared. The numbers flickered and jumped with aggressive speed. Best Friend: 17 votes. Boyfriend: 1 vote. Everyone in the room assumed that solitary vote was mine—a desperate, pathetic plea for my own girlfriend’s time on my thirty-fourth birthday. Elena leaned back against the velvet sofa, a sharp, satisfied smile playing on her lips as she watched the results. “Well,” she said, her voice airy and unbothered. “Majority rules.” Evan immediately pressed the movie tickets into her palm, his boy-next-door grin widening. “Looks like the people have spoken, Elena. I need you more.” I stood there in my favorite white linen shirt, positioned behind a tiered cake that hadn’t even been lit yet. Someone in the back of the room let out a mocking whistle. “Don’t be a sore loser, Noah,” someone shouted. “It’s just a poll.” That was the theme of our relationship. For three years, our lives had been a series of democratic humiliations. If we fought, a poll decided who should apologize first. After a party, a poll decided who she’d drive home. Once, when I asked her if she actually loved me, she turned that into a poll too. “Let’s see what the jury says,” she’d joked. I used to believe that if I could just win once—if just one time the bar for ‘Boyfriend’ would outstrip the rest—she would finally choose me with conviction. But I never won. Not once. And certainly not tonight. Elena stood up and reached for her trench coat. As she brushed past me, she reached out and playfully pinched my ear, a condescending gesture she used for her golden retriever. “Be a good boy. I’ll make it up to you when I get back,” she whispered. I stared at the poll results on the screen until the blue light burned my retinas. I reached into my pocket and turned off my phone. Then, I pushed the silver cake knife across the table toward her. “Don’t bother,” I said. My voice was quiet, but it cut through the laughter in the room. “Elena, I’m abstaining. From everything.” The lounge went silent for a heartbeat. Elena’s hand froze near my face. Evan was the first to break the tension with a light, dismissive chuckle, as if I’d just made a joke in poor taste. “Come on, Noah. Don’t be like that. It’s your birthday.” Elena pulled her hand back, her brow furrowing into a sharp line. “Noah, everyone is watching. Don’t start a scene just because the numbers didn’t go your way.” In the past, the second she used that tone—that warning “Noah”—I would have folded. I would have swallowed my pride to keep the peace, to stop the friends from whispering that I was “too sensitive” or “controlling.” But this time, I didn’t flinch. I reached out and began pulling the unlit candles out of the cake, one by one, dropping them onto the table like spent shell casings. “The only one making a scene here isn’t me,” I said. Evan immediately caught Elena’s sleeve, his expression shifting to one of wounded nobility. “Elena, forget it. Maybe we should just stay. I don’t need to see the movie that badly.” He said the words, but his fingers were white from how tightly he was gripping the tickets. The group chat notifications started chirping again. The “Inner Circle” was already weighing in. “The poll is final. No exceptions,” someone called out. “Let the man have his tantrum, Elena. You can celebrate with him tomorrow.” Elena checked her Cartier watch. The movie started in twenty minutes. She stood there for a moment, the silence stretching thin, before she finally slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’m driving him,” she said, her voice hardening. “If you still want to have a birthday, wait for me here. Stop making me play mediator every single time we go out.” I looked up at her, really looked at her. “I said don’t bother, Elena. I won’t be here.” She acted as if she hadn’t heard me, turning on her heel and heading for the door. Evan followed close behind, pausing briefly at my side to let out a performative sigh. “Noah, you know how much she hates being pressured to choose,” he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. The door clicked shut. The music in the lounge surged back to life. On the giant screen, the poll was still frozen. Best Friend: 17. Boyfriend: 1. That lonely “1” felt like the last shred of my dignity, hanging there for everyone to mock. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A new poll had been posted in the group chat. This one wasn’t anonymous. Place your bets: How many minutes until Noah crawls back and apologizes? 10 Minutes. 30 Minutes. Tomorrow morning. Evan had already voted for “10 Minutes.” A few others joined in with laughing emojis. “Don’t give him that much credit. Five minutes max.” “He can’t breathe without Elena.” Elena didn’t vote. But she didn’t stop them, either. Then, a message popped up from one of the guys: “Wait, that ‘Boyfriend’ vote earlier… that was Noah voting for himself, right?” Evan replied with a ‘shushing’ emoji. “Who else would bother?” I stared at the screen until the words blurred. They didn’t even believe I had a single ally in that room. My chest felt hollow, a cold ache spreading through my limbs. I hit the “Leave Group” button. My gold party hat was still sitting on the table. A spilled drink had soaked into the paper, making it limp and soggy. I grabbed my jacket and walked out. “Hey, Noah! You actually leaving?” someone yelled. I didn’t look back. The hallway was long, lined with floor-to-ceiling glass. My reflection followed me—the crisp white shirt, the red-rimmed eyes, the empty hands. I looked like a clown who had finally realized the circus was over. Elena didn’t get back until 1:00 AM. I was in the middle of the living room, packing the last of her things into a cardboard box. In three years, she had colonised every square inch of my apartment. Her stilettos in the foyer, her expensive serums cluttering the bathroom vanity, her hair ties lost in the sofa cushions. Even the throw pillows I’d picked out had been replaced with the beige ones she preferred. The smart lock chimed, and she stepped in, bringing with her the chill of the night and a faint, woody scent. It was Le Labo Santal 33. Evan’s signature scent. She saw the boxes, and her face instantly darkened. “Again with this? The ‘packing’ routine?” I pulled a strip of packing tape across the box, the screeching sound filling the silence. “The rest will be ready for pickup tomorrow.” She marched over and slammed her hand down on the lid of the box. “Noah, I gave you an out tonight. I gave you a chance to be the bigger person. How long are you going to keep this act up?” I looked up at her. “It’s not an act. I’m clearing out the clutter.” Elena let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “I go to one movie with Evan and you’re throwing away a three-year relationship? You saw the poll, Noah. The group decided. It wasn’t just me.” My fingers stalled on the tape. “So, in your mind, you’re the victim of democracy? You didn’t actually make a choice?” She scoffed. “I followed the rules we’ve always had.” The rules. I remembered the first poll, three years ago. She had finally agreed to go public with us. But then Evan posted a poll in the group: Does Elena going public right now ruin the vibe of the group? Yes: 15. No: 2. Elena had kissed my cheek that night and said, “Let’s just wait a few months, babe. Everyone thinks it’s too soon. It’s better this way.” I waited three months. By the time Evan’s birthday rolled around, she posted a nine-photo grid on Instagram. The first photo was of her and Evan. Then came the New Year’s Eve parties where I sat in the back of the car while Evan took the front seat because of a poll. The anniversaries that were moved because the “Inner Circle” had a conflict. The first slice of every cake. I was constantly a line item on a ballot, and I was constantly vetoed. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my old backup phone. I unlocked it and opened a hidden folder. Inside were 276 screenshots. Three years of every poll, every mockery, every time I had been voted out of my own life. Elena blinked, looking at the screen. “Why on earth would you keep those?” “To make sure I never convince myself I was imagining it,” I said quietly. “And to remind myself why I have to leave.” Her face went rigid. “You’re being incredibly dramatic, Noah.” “Am I?” I gave her a tired smile. “Compared to watching my worth jump up and down in a bar graph every Friday night? This is the most dignified I’ve been in years.” Elena looked away, her jaw tight. “You used to be so much easier to be around. You weren’t so… keeping score.” “I used to believe that eventually, you’d choose me without needing a majority to tell you it was okay.” The room went quiet. I pushed the box toward her feet. “By the way, that one vote tonight? The one for ‘Boyfriend’?” Elena looked at me, her eyes flickering with a momentary doubt. “What about it? We all know you voted for yourself.” “I didn’t,” I said. “I never even took my phone out of my pocket. I stopped voting for myself a long time ago.” I didn’t know who had cast that lone vote, and frankly, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that for the first time in three years, I didn’t care about the outcome. Elena stared at me for a long time, her expression unreadable. Then, she suddenly kicked the cardboard box aside. “Fine. You want to clear everything out? Go ahead. Be miserable.” Her phone lit up on the counter. A message from Evan. Is Noah still throwing his fit? Should I come over tomorrow and apologize so he feels better? Elena didn’t even try to hide the screen from me. She typed back instantly: He’s still acting out. We’ll talk tomorrow. I watched her thumbs move across the glass and felt a strange, jarring sense of comedy. To her, I wasn’t heartbroken. I wasn’t disillusioned. I was just acting out. Like a child who needed a nap. I leaned down, straightened the box, and finished sealing it. “Elena, we’re done. Properly.” She was already walking toward the bedroom, her back to me. She let out a cold, hollow laugh. “You’ve said that a dozen times, Noah. You never actually go anywhere.” The next day at noon, my friend Miles called me. His voice was hesitant, laced with an awkwardness that told me he’d already been briefed. “Hey, Noah. Elena reached out. She said you left some stuff at the lounge last night. She mentioned you aren’t picking up her calls, so she asked me to tell you.” I stayed silent. Miles quickly added, “Look, I’ll go with you. We’ll grab it and get out. Easy.” But when I walked into the lounge, I realized it was an ambush. The room was packed with the “Inner Circle.” Miles’s face fell. “She told me it was just us,” he muttered under his breath. “I didn’t know the whole squad was going to be here.” Elena was sitting in the center of the booth. Evan was next to her, his eyes red-rimmed, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink. There was a small cake on the table with a single candle lit. The moment he saw me, Evan stood up. “Noah, man, I am so sorry.” He picked up a glass of scotch and walked over to me. “Last night was stupid. I shouldn’t have made a joke about the tickets. Please, don’t break up with Elena because of me.” Elena looked up, her gaze steady and expectant. “Evan apologized, Noah. Stop being so stuck-up about it. We all just want to clear the air.” As if on cue, the giant LED screen flickered to life. Someone at the bar was holding their phone up, laughing. The familiar poll layout appeared. Should Noah drink a peace-offering shot with Evan to officially move on? The countdown hadn’t even finished, but the results were already a landslide. Yes: 18. No: 0. The game was rigged before it even began. Evan looked at the screen, then back at me with a pained expression. “Guys, don’t. Noah’s going to feel uncomfortable.” Elena pushed a shot glass toward me. “Drink it, Noah. Let it go.” I looked down at the amber liquid. In the past three years, I had swallowed so many of these “peace offerings.” I drank to not be the “party pooper.” I drank to “give her a graceful exit.” I drank to prove I wasn’t jealous, to make sure Elena didn’t have to frown at me. I picked up the glass. Elena’s expression softened. Evan let out a visible breath of relief. Then, I turned the glass over and poured the scotch directly into the ice bucket. The sound of the liquid hitting the ice was sharp and final. The room went dead. I set the empty glass back on the table. “I’m not drinking to this. And you don’t need to notify me when you decide a situation is ‘over.’” Elena’s face turned stormy. “Noah, are you really going to be this difficult?” “Difficult?” I looked her in the eye. “You guys launch a poll to force me to toast the guy who spends his life undermining me. You force me to be ‘big-hearted’ so you don’t have to feel guilty about being shitty. And then you have the nerve to ask me why I’m not being ‘dignified’?” Evan’s eyes welled up. “I really just wanted us to be friends, Noah.” He turned to leave. “Elena, I should go. I’m clearly making things worse.” Elena moved instinctively, reaching out to grab his arm to keep him there. It was a reflex. So fast she didn’t even realize she was doing it. I saw it clearly. She didn’t need a poll. Her body had been choosing him for years. Miles grabbed my arm. “Let’s go, Noah.” I nodded. But as I reached the door, Elena chased after me, grabbing my wrist. “You aren’t leaving until we finish this conversation.” I shook her off. “It is finished. I’m breaking up with you. He’s ‘sorry.’ You guys can keep the ‘Inner Circle’ exactly the way it is.” “I didn’t agree to a breakup!” she snapped, her voice trembling with rage. I smiled, and it was the first time in years I felt like I had the upper hand. “What, do we need to take a vote on that too?” My phone buzzed. A new poll from the group chat. Betting pool: Will Noah come crawling back tonight? Yes. Absolutely Yes. There wasn’t even a third option. I held the screen up to Elena’s face. “Look. They’ve already scripted my return for me. They don’t even see me as a person anymore, Elena. I’m just an outcome.” Elena’s face paled. Evan was standing behind her, calling her name softly. “Elena, don’t fight with him because of me.” She didn’t follow me this time. I walked out of the club and into the overcast afternoon. My phone vibrated with a text from the moving company. We’re confirmed for 3:00 PM tomorrow. Moving day was grey and heavy. I stood in the hollowed-out living room, watching the movers stack the last of the boxes against the wall. There were pale outlines on the paint where the pictures used to hang—ghostly reminders of a life that had been stripped away. The landlord called, sounding confused. “Noah, Elena contacted me. She said you were just having a spat and told me not to process the lease termination yet.” I dropped my spare key into an envelope. “Process it. According to the contract.” The landlord hesitated. “She said you’d regret it.” “That’s her opinion,” I said, and hung up. The doorbell rang. On the security monitor, Elena was standing in the hallway. She was wearing the same black dress from the night before, her eyes tired. She didn’t ring again. She just sent a text. Open the door. Stop trying to scare me with this moving nonsense. Noah, my patience is wearing thin. I didn’t reply. Ten minutes later, another one: What exactly do you want from me? I looked at those words and remembered three years ago, the first time I had backed down. I had asked her the same thing. “Elena, what do you want from me?” She had told me: “I just want you to stop being so sensitive.” I guess everything comes full circle eventually. Only the person feeling the sting had changed. When the movers finally opened the door to leave, Elena was still there. She didn’t look at me first. She looked past me at the empty apartment. The shoe rack was gone. The coffee table was gone. I was even holding the ceramic pot with the snake plant she’d always complained was “ugly.” Her composure finally broke. “You’re actually doing this?” “Yeah.” She reached out to grab my suitcase. “Where are you even going?” I stepped back, out of her reach. “That’s none of your business.” Elena gritted her teeth. “Noah, don’t push this too far. I sent Evan home last night. I told them no more polls. What else do you want?” I looked at her. To her, simply stopping the abuse was the same thing as making amends. I pulled out my old phone and opened a screen. I had created one last poll of my own. Is Elena worth Noah looking back? Option 1: Not worth it. Option 2: Never look back. Total votes: 1. I had selected Option 2. Elena saw the screen, and her face went white. “This is childish. You’re being immature.” “I learned from the best,” I said. “You let them decide my life 276 times, Elena. Now, it’s my turn to vote.” Her voice turned icy. “Don’t you dare.” I tucked the envelope into her coat pocket. Inside were the keys, the silver watch she’d given me for our first anniversary, and the movie ticket from the night before, torn in half. “I vote you out,” I said. Elena grabbed my wrist, her grip desperate. “Noah!” The mover lingered by the elevator, looking awkward. I looked down at her fingers. In the past, if she held me like this, I would have softened instantly. Even if I was choking on my own resentment, I would have stayed just to feel chosen. But now, I just felt a profound sense of too late. I pried her fingers off, one by one. “Don’t touch me.” Elena froze. Her hand stayed suspended in the air, the shock of being rejected finally sinking in. At that moment, her phone buzzed. It was a screenshot from Evan. Another poll. Betting pool: How many days until Noah comes back? 3 days. 1 week. 2 weeks max. Evan’s avatar was already glowing under “3 days.” Elena’s fingers trembled. She tried to lock the screen, but it was too late. I’d already seen it. The last bit of dull ache in my chest finally went cold. I took the old phone and pressed it into her palm. “Let them keep betting,” I said. “I’m not playing the game anymore.”
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