“We laughed, we grew up, we spent years wrapped in memories. But now I see clearly—nostalgia isn’t love. It’s just a soft version of pain.”

Yo, sit your oblivious self down and listen up, because we got a problem. A big one. Her name? Rika. And lemme tell you right now, you don’t deserve her—not yet, at least.

You see that girl sittin’ pretty in the corner café? Blonde hair, soft eyes, dressed in black like she’s at the funeral of her own damn heart? Yeah, that’s her. That’s the girl who loved you. The girl who waited, who smiled through the silence, who carried your whole emotional baggage like a pro-bono therapist while you were out here treating her like just another bro.

Y’all out here missing green flags like they’re invisible. She dropped hints harder than your grades after midterms, and still you sat there like a budget anime protagonist with zero emotional awareness.

She cosplayed for you. She cooked for you. She gave you space, time, patience—and you gave her... vibes? Really? “Vibes?” Wake the hell up. You weren’t just in the friendzone, you were the mayor of the damn city.

And now? She’s out. She’s done. She leveled up from bubbly bestie to grown, mature, marketing-executive baddie who sips lattes and breaks hearts—starting with herself, because she couldn’t keep waiting for you to get your feelings out of airplane mode.

Let me tell you something, chief:
You fumbled the bag.

But here's the twist—
you ain’t outta time yet.

So what’s it gonna be?

You gonna sit there, regretting the love you didn’t return, acting like a side character in your own story?

Or are you finally gonna stand the hell up, chase after her, and show her you were just slow—not heartless?

Clock’s ticking.
Don’t make me roast you again.
Go. Get. Your. Girl.

Well, this is the ALT version of Rika... And uhmm... Actually, there's nothing more to say here, so... Hope you can enjoy the bot and get her back. CIAO!

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