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๐ŸŽ๐Ÿ‘๐Ÿ‘๏ผŽ๐ˆ'๐ฆ ๐˜๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ฌ ๐“๐จ ๐Š๐ž๐ž๐ฉ ๐€๐ง๐ ๐ˆ'๐ฆ ๐˜๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ฌ ๐“๐จ ๐‹๐จ๐ฌ๐ž




























เฉˆโœฉโ€งโ‚Šหš ๐ˆ'๐ฆ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ฌ ๐ญ๐จ ๐ค๐ž๐ž๐ฉ ๐š๐ง๐ ๐ˆ'๐ฆ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ฌ ๐ญ๐จ ๐ฅ๐จ๐ฌ๐ž ! โ‹†ยทหš เผ˜ *

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”


























เฉˆโœฉโ€งโ‚Šหš ๐ˆ๐ง๐ฌ๐ญ๐š๐ ๐ซ๐š๐ฆ ! โ‹†ยทหš เผ˜ *

๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ฅ๐š๐ซ๐จ๐ฌ๐ž ๐—‰๐—ˆ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ !

โ™ฅ ๐—…๐—‚๐—„๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐–ป๐—’ ๐ณ๐š๐ฒ๐ง ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐Ÿ—,๐Ÿ๐Ÿ๐Ÿ,๐ŸŽ๐Ÿ”๐Ÿ— ๐—ˆ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐—Œ๏ผŽ
๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ฅ๐š๐ซ๐จ๐ฌ๐ž ๐–จ'๐—† ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹๐—Œ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—„๐–พ๐–พ๐—‰ ๐Ÿ˜š

โ”โ” ๐ฏ๐ข๐ž๐ฐ ๐œ๐จ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ž๐ง๐ญ๐ฌ


๐ฉ๐ก๐จ๐ž๐›๐ž๐ซ๐จ๐๐ซ๐ข๐ ๐ฎ๐ž๐ณย ย  ๐–ฆ๐– ๐–ง ๐–ฃ๐– ๐–ธ๐–ด๐–ฌ
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’
โคฟ ๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ฅ๐š๐ซ๐จ๐ฌ๐ž ๐–ฆ๐– ๐–ง ๐–ฃ๐– ๐–ธ๐–ด๐–ฌ
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’


๐ฌ๐ข๐ž๐ง๐ง๐š๐ซ๐จ๐ฌ๐ž ๐– ๐–พ๐—Œ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—๐—‚๐–ผ ๐—Š๐—Ž๐–พ๐–พ๐—‡
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’
โคฟ ๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ฅ๐š๐ซ๐จ๐ฌ๐ž ๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐—…
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’


๐ก๐ฎ๐ง๐ญ๐ž๐ซ๐ฌ๐œ๐ก๐š๐Ÿ๐ž๐ซ ๐–ข๐–บ๐—‡ ๐—‚ ๐—๐–บ๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’
โคฟ ๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ฅ๐š๐ซ๐จ๐ฌ๐ž ๐—’๐–พ๐—Œ ๐Ÿคญ
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’


๐ญ๐จ๐ฆ๐›๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ญ๐ก ๐–จ ๐—†๐—‚๐—Œ๐—Œ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—Œ๐—†
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’
โคฟ ๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ฅ๐š๐ซ๐จ๐ฌ๐ž ๐—‚๐—'๐—Œ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ ๐–ป๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—๐—‚๐—๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐— ๐—Ž ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—‹ ๐—Ž ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—†๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’
โคฟ ๐ญ๐จ๐ฆ๐›๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ญ๐ก ๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—ˆ๐—‡ ๐—†๐—’ ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’
โคฟ ๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ฅ๐š๐ซ๐จ๐ฌ๐ž ๐—ˆ๐—„๐–บ๐—’ ๐—‚ ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’
โคฟ ๐ญ๐จ๐ฆ๐›๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ญ๐ก ๐—‚ ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–พ
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’


๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž๐ซ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐ž ๐–ฌ๐–ฎ๐–ฌ๐–ฌ๐–ธ!?!?
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’


๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž๐ซ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐ž ๐—‚'๐—† ๐—Œ๐—ˆ ๐—ˆ๐–ป๐—Œ๐–พ๐—Œ๐—Œ๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐—‚๐—๐— ๐—๐—๐—‚๐—Œ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—†๐–บ๐—‡ ๐Ÿ˜
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’


๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž๐ซ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐ž ๐—‰๐—Ž๐—…๐—… ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—Œ๐—๐—‚๐—‹๐— ๐—Ž๐—‰ ๐–บ ๐–ป๐—‚๐— ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–พ ๐Ÿ˜
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’
โคฟ ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž๐ซ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐ž ๐—‹๐—‚๐—€๐—๐— ๐—Ž ๐—€๐—Ž๐—’๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—€๐–พ๐—๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—๐–บ๐—’ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—ˆ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—†๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—๐–บ๐–ป๐—…๐–พ
๐Ÿ๐ก๐ซ ๐š๐ ๐จ ๐ซ๐ž๐ฉ๐ฅ๐ฒ


๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž๐ซ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐ž ๐—๐—ˆ๐—† ๐–ป๐—…๐—’๐—๐— ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—…๐—Ž๐–ผ๐—„๐—’ ๐—†๐–บ๐—‡ ๐—Ž ๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—‹๐—‡
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’
โคฟ ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž๐ซ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐ž ๐—ƒ๐–พ๐–บ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—Œ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—† ๐–ป๐—…๐—’๐—๐—
๐Ÿ๐ก๐ซ ๐š๐ ๐จ ๐ซ๐ž๐ฉ๐ฅ๐ฒ



๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž๐ซ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐ž ๐—‚๐—† ๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—‹๐—’ ๐–ป๐—Ž๐— ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–ผ๐–บ๐—†๐–พ๐—‹๐–บ ๐–ป๐–พ๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—‚๐—Œ ๐–ฟ๐—Ž๐—‡๐—‡๐—’ ๐Ÿ˜ญ
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’


๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž๐ซ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐ž ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‡๐—Œ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–บ๐—…๐–ป๐—Ž๐—† ๐–ฝ๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—‰๐—‰๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐Ÿง๐Ÿคจ๐Ÿค”
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’
โคฟ ๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ฅ๐š๐ซ๐จ๐ฌ๐ž ๐Ÿคทโ€โ™€๏ธ
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’


๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž๐ซ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐ž ๐–ผ๐–บ๐—‰๐—๐—‚๐—ˆ๐—‡ ๐—‚๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—‚๐—†๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—๐–บ๐—‹๐–ฝ๐—Œ ๐—†๐–พ ๐–พ๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐—’๐—ˆ๐—‡๐–พ
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’


๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž๐ซ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐ž ๐—’๐–พ๐—Œ ๐—‚ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—…๐–ฝ ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—†๐–บ๐—‹๐—‹๐—’ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—…๐—’๐—…๐–บ ๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—Œ๐–พ
๐Ÿฃ๐—๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐—’


























เฉˆโœฉโ€งโ‚Šหš ๐‘๐ž๐š๐ฅ ๐‹๐ข๐Ÿ๐ž ! โ‹†ยทหš เผ˜ *

๐“๐‡๐„ ๐๐‹๐Ž๐๐ƒ๐„ ๐†๐ˆ๐‘๐‹ ๐‹๐„๐“ out a sigh as she placed her lyric book down. She was trying to write a song, but the blonde girl just couldn't concentrate. She missed Tom, but he was out with his friends. Lyla wanted to hang out with her friends, but Phoebe was in London and her sister and Timothรฉe went back to Paris. So she was lonely right now.

Lyla let out a sigh as she scrolled through her Instagram account. She had no idea how long she was scrolling for, but all of a sudden she stopped scrolling when she saw a post. It was a picture of her and Tom, and the caption was just saying how much the person loved the two, which made the blonde singer smile.

Then, she clicked on the comments, and that's when her smile dropped, along with her heart. The blonde girl felt her heart sink when she saw the horrible hate comments.

๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž๐ซ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐žย ย  ๐–ค๐— ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ'๐—Œ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ ๐–ฟ๐—Ž๐–ผ๐—„๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—Ž๐—€๐—…๐—’ ๐—…๐—‚๐—„๐–พ ๐—๐–พ๐—…๐—… ๐—๐—๐—‚๐—Œ ๐–ป๐—‚๐—๐–ผ๐— ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—€๐–พ๐— ๐–บ๐—๐–บ๐—’ ๐–ฟ๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—† ๐–ณ๐—ˆ๐—†

๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž๐ซ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐žย ย  ๐–ถ๐—๐—’ ๐—‚๐—Œ ๐–ณ๐—ˆ๐—† ๐–ฝ๐–บ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—๐—๐—‚๐—Œ ๐–ฟ๐–บ๐— ๐—Œ๐—…๐—Ž๐—

๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž๐ซ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐žย ย  ๐–ฅ๐–พ๐–พ๐—… ๐–ป๐–บ๐–ฝ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐–ณ๐—ˆ๐—† ๐—…๐—‚๐—„๐–พ ๐—๐–พ ๐–ฝ๐—ˆ๐–พ๐—Œ๐—‡'๐— ๐—„๐—‡๐—ˆ๐— ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—†๐–พ๐—Œ๐—Œ ๐—๐–พ'๐—Œ ๐—€๐–พ๐—๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—‚๐—‡๐—๐—ˆ

๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž๐ซ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐žย ย  ๐–จ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‰๐–พ ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—’ ๐–ป๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐—„ ๐—Ž๐—‰ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—ˆ๐—‡ ๐—‘๐—‘๐—‘

๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž๐ซ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐žย ย  ๐–ง๐–พ'๐—Œ ๐—๐–บ๐—’ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—ˆ ๐—€๐—ˆ๐—ˆ๐–ฝ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹

๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž๐ซ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐žย ย  ๐–ณ๐—๐—‚๐—Œ ๐—Œ๐—…๐–บ๐—€ ๐–ฝ๐—ˆ๐–พ๐—Œ๐—‡'๐— ๐–ฝ๐–พ๐—Œ๐–พ๐—‹๐—๐–พ ๐–ณ๐—ˆ๐—†

๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž๐ซ๐ง๐š๐ฆ๐žย ย  ๐–ฒ๐—๐–พ'๐—Œ ๐—‡๐—ˆ๐— ๐–พ๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—‰๐—‹๐–พ๐—๐—๐—’ ๐–บ๐—‡๐—’๐—๐–บ๐—’๐—Œ

Lyla scrolled and scrolled, feeling tears pool in the corner of her eyes. Maybe the comments were right? Maybe Tom deserved better than her? Maybe she was going to ruin his life? Perhaps what they say is all true and she doesn't deserve him, because Tom is way too good for her.

The blonde girl felt all her insecurities piling upon her. It was too much. What if she was too fat? Is she that ugly? Does Tom even want her? What if he leaves her for some pretty girl? Is she a slut?

Lyla knew she should have broken up with Tom ages ago. Everyone was right. It wouldn't last. It was too good to be true.

The blonde girl knew Tom deserved better, and being with her wasn't it. She knew what she had to do in order for Tom to have a better life. He deserved to be loved by someone way prettier than her. Someone who is way skinnier than she is and definitely not defined as a 'Slut'.

Drowning herself in her insecurities, Lyla had no idea Tom had entered the apartment, most specifically her bedroom. "Love?" He softly asked.

The blonde girl immediately looked up from her phone, allowing Tom to see her tear stained face. Oh shit, Lyla thought to herself. All that was running through her mind was to break up with him right now. She had to let him go.

"What happened?" He said, walking towards the girl. Lyla immediately stood up from the bed and wiped her eyes, before taking a deep breath and facing a confused and concerned Tom.

"We have to break up." She quickly said, before looking down at the ground and fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. She didn't want to look into his eyes.

"Absolutely not." Tom responded back after a moment of silence. The Birmingham boy was confused. Where was this all coming from? He thought.

"What-? Tom did you not hear me?" Lyla replied back, finally looking into his eyes. She felt her heart sting when she saw the pained and confused look on his face.

"I heard you very well, but what's the reason?" Tom asked, slowly walking towards Lyla, who moved back. She hated this. She hated how her insecurities were taking over her thoughts. The British boy felt hurt when she did that, but he immediately hid his emotions.

"I'm not good enough for you Tom. You deserve someone who's way better than me." Lyla rambled on, as tears spilled out of her eyes.

There was a silence lingering in the room... and it wasn't a comfortable silence. Tom let out a sigh. "Who said you're not good enough for me?" Tom calmly said. Even thought Lyla was almost on the verge of screaming, Tom was still speakingย  in calm voice because the blonde girl was already startled and he did not want to startle her even more.

"Basically everyone." She sobbed, wrapping her arms around her body and looking everywhere but at Tom's blue eyes. "I can't be with you Tom." The girl added on, feeling her heart break.

Tom gulped and nodded, also feeling his heart crack. "Okay, I'll just leave you be for a few days so you can focus on yourself, but I don't want to break up with you." He softly said. "I'll wait for you."

"Tom-" Lyla sniffled. Fighting with a true love really felt like boxing with no gloves. She hated what she was doing to Tom, it was on his face and she was the one to blame. The blonde girl really went off like sirens just crying. Oh how much she hated her insecurities. They were her own enemies.

The blonde girl watched as the man she loved walked away from her, and it was her fault. Why'd she have to break what she loved so much? The image of Tom's heartbroken face haunted Lyla's mind the whole day. She was so sorry that she hurt him. It was official, Lyla was the one that burned them down.










































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