Chanel, 27,

Abel caught my eye instantly when I saw him outside our university halls seven years ago. He was cool, daring and always doing wild things, like jumping out of windows! When I finally found an excuse to go to his floor with a friend, our eyes met. There was a definite connection.

We were friends for a year. One night, we kissed, and weighed up the pros and cons of getting together. I was unsure because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but I’d never trusted a friend as much, so decided to give it a shot. We were fun and spontaneous, going on city breaks or staying up all night making music. On my 21st birthday, I got really drunk and ended up in hospital. Abel was the only person who visited me. That’s when I realised I loved him.

We lived together in Stoke, our university town. But, after four years, I moved back to my mum’s in Wolverhampton to save some money. It didn’t work long-distance, and we broke up for a few months. But I really missed him so when I moved to London, where Abel lived, we got a flat together and tried again. Within the first week, we were arguing. I’d lost trust in him. I’d found used condoms in our flat and he was hiding his phone. He never owned up to cheating, but I was tired of arguing so I ended it two months later, in May 2018. We were stuck together financially and stayed living in our flat for 10 months, sharing a bed but sometimes not speaking all day.

Six months ago, on our anniversary, Abel turned up unannounced saying he missed me. But I wasn’t interested – the break-up was still too fresh.

On the date he said he’s changed and that nobody compares to me. I could tell he misses me. He’ll never admit to cheating, though. I can’t forgive him.