I wish I could say I didn't mean to avoid him. That it just sort of happened. But that would be a lie—and I’ve had enough of those. I saw Theo outside the library on the first day back from break, standing exactly where we used to meet every Tuesday after class. He hadn’t changed—still in that worn grey hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, still tapping his fingers rhythmically like he was playing piano on air. But something in me seized up. I turned around and walked the long way to English, pretending I hadn’t noticed him. That was two weeks ago. I’ve been doing the same ever since. At first, I convinced myself I just needed space. But now it’s become something else entirely. A routine. A pattern I’m scared to break, even though it’s slowly unravelling me. The worst part? He hasn’t really tried to stop me.
screen’s off. Lucy’s at our usual table with a few people from her dance group, laughing at something Theo just said. He leans toward her, his shoulder brushing hers. She doesn’t move away. A fork twists in my stomach. I force myself to look away, but not before I catch Lucy glancing toward me. Our eyes meet for a split second, and then she looks down at her tray like nothing happened. I used to be part of that laugh. That rhythm. That ease. Now I’m just…here. Invisible. “Hey.” Lucy corners me after class, slipping into step beside me as we head toward the lockers. Her voice is light, but there’s a hesitance to it, like she’s testing the water. I nod, keeping my gaze forward. “Hey.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Are we… okay?” I hate that question. It’s like someone holding a mirror up to a bruise you’ve been ignoring. “Yeah,” I say too quickly. “Just tired.” Lucy doesn’t push. She never does. “Okay. Just checking.” She pauses. Then adds, “Theo said you’ve been kind of… distant.” I laugh. It sounds hollow. “We’re not joined at the hip.” “I didn’t say you were.” Her voice is soft but firm. “I just thought—”
Silence settles between us. I feel her watching me, searching for something I’m not ready to give. When I reach my locker, she gives me a small smile and walks off. I don’t watch her go. That night, I pull out my journal and stare at the blank page. It used to be easy to write. Lately, every word feels like a struggle. Like I’m peeling something raw off my chest and smearing it across the page. Entry: I miss him. And it’s pathetic. He didn’t do anything wrong. If anything, I’m the one who changed. Pulled away. Hid. And Lucy—she’s always been there. She deserves good things. So why does the thought of her and Theo together make me want to scream? Maybe I never had a chance. Maybe I ruined it before it even began. Or maybe I’m just a coward. The next morning, I nearly crash into Theo by the front steps of school. My heart lurches as his eyes meet mine—those same familiar eyes that used to feel like home. “Hey,” he says, his voice careful. “Caroline.” I freeze, fingers tightening around my backpack strap. “Hi.” He waits, like he expects me to say more. I don’t. He shifts his weight. “You’ve been… gone. Everything okay?” “I’ve been busy,” I mumble, avoiding his eyes.
There’s a pause, thick with everything we’re not saying. I can feel the question in the air: Why are you shutting me out? I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. Theo gives a small, sad smile. “Okay. See you around.” He walks past me, and I stand there like an idiot, wishing I could rewind the last five seconds and just say something. But the words are trapped, heavy and bitter. I don’t turn around until I’m sure he’s gone. At lunch, Lucy is sitting closer to Theo than usual. Their knees brush once. He doesn’t pull away. And suddenly, I can’t breathe.
There’s something deeply exhausting about pretending to be okay. I wear the smile like it’s stitched to my face, laugh at things I don’t find funny, and tell Lucy I’m fine when I feel like I’m slowly disappearing. It’s not even about lying anymore. It’s survival. I stopped sitting in the cafeteria altogether. Now I eat in the library, where the silence feels safer. The librarian doesn’t ask questions, and the fluorescent lights don’t care that I’m falling apart. Lucy’s still trying. She sends me texts I barely answer, waves at me in the hallway like nothing’s changed. Maybe to her, it hasn’t. Or maybe she’s just better at pretending than I am. On Friday, I pass by the music room and hear Theo practicing piano again. I pause for a second by the door, out of sight. His hands move with the same easy grace they always did—fluid, sure, full of feeling. There’s something achingly familiar about it.
opened up to me. When we sat side by side and he told me about his brother, his family, his fears. That version of him feels like a dream now. Like someone I made up. I slip away before he sees me. “Caroline,” Lucy says on Monday, catching up to me by the lockers again. “Do you have time to talk after school?” I nod before I even know why. Maybe I’m tired of running. Or maybe I’m hoping she’ll say what I’m scared to. We sit on a bench outside the school, sunlight catching in Lucy’s hair. She’s quiet for a while, chewing on her bottom lip. Then she says it. “I think I like Theo.” My stomach flips. It’s not a surprise—not really. But hearing it out loud feels like someone pulled the rug out from under me. I nod slowly, hoping my face doesn’t give me away. “That’s… great.” “Is it?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve been weird about him lately. Distant.” “I told you,” I say, forcing a light tone. “I’ve just been busy.” She watches me carefully. “Are you sure there’s nothing between you two?” “No,” I say too fast. Then, softer: “Not anymore.” Lucy looks relieved, and I hate myself for being the reason.
more. I didn’t want to do anything if you…” “I don’t,” I interrupt. “You should go for it. Seriously.” She smiles, and it’s a real one. “Thanks, Caroline.” That night, I rip the journal page out three times before I finally manage to write something that doesn’t feel like a scream. Entry: I said I didn’t care. I lied. A week later, they make it official. They’re not obnoxious about it. There are no hallway make-outs or public declarations. Just quiet moments—a hand brushing another, an inside joke, eyes that linger too long. But I see it all. Every stolen glance feels like a cut. I don’t cry. I don’t scream. I don’t even tell anyone. I just let it sit inside me like a storm with nowhere to go. Theo barely looks at me now. Or maybe I’m the one who won’t look at him. Lucy beams when she talks about him. I nod and smile and twist my fingernails under the table.
“How’s school been?” she asks. “Fine.” “And Lucy? Theo?” My fingers clench in my lap. “They’re dating.” “I see,” she says. “How does that make you feel?” I hesitate. Then I lie. “Happy for them.” She waits. I don’t say anything else. Eventually, she says, “You know, sometimes when we suppress emotions, they don’t go away. They just get louder in different ways.” I stare at the wall. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She nods gently. “That’s okay. We don’t have to. But when you’re ready, I’m here.” At home, I try journaling again. Entry: She got him. Not because she stole him. Because I gave him away. And now I don’t know who I am without him.
Some people say heartbreak feels like a sharp pain. Like being stabbed. But for me, it’s more like a slow leak. A quiet unravelling. A dripping faucet no one notices until the floor’s rotted underneath. Every day, I see them—Lucy and Theo—growing closer. They don’t flaunt it. They don’t have to. A glance, a shared laugh, a moment where she leans her head on his shoulder. Little things. Big enough to break me. I keep telling myself it’s not their fault. And it’s not. But that doesn’t stop the bitterness from growing inside me like ivy, choking out everything else. In math class, Lucy passes me a note. Just like we used to. You’re being weird. Please don’t disappear again. I stare at it for a long time before folding it in half and tucking it in my notebook. I don’t write back.
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