Pain. Only pain. Feeling? Numb. How can someone be numb but, still feel so much pain? Renna was taken aback when I barged my way in. No one else will listen. No one will understand. Renna might not understand, but she listens. Renna doesn’t say anything right away. Just gestures to the chair across from her desk — not the couch. Not today. Today isn’t about opening up. It’s about holding it all in without bursting. I sit down stiffly, arms folded, heartbeat still wrecked.
“I saw him,” I say. My voice sounds too loud in the quiet office. Still, Renna says nothing. Just tilts her head slightly. That look she gives me — soft but not pitying. Open, but not expectant. It always makes me feel like I might be safe. “With her,” I add. My throat tightens. “He was with her.” She doesn’t ask who. She knows. She always knows. I stare at the floor, at the worn edge of the rug I’ve memorized by now. “He smiled at her. And it wasn’t just polite. It was the smile he used to give me.” Renna lets the silence linger — not empty, but full. Full of the things I can’t say yet. The things I’m still trying to let myself feel. “I don’t know why it hurts so much,” I murmur. “We’re not even... anything. We’re not together. He never promised me anything.” Renna finally speaks, her voice calm and quiet. “And yet... it still felt like something.” I nod, eyes burning. “It felt like everything.” I close my eyes and lean back in the chair. The silence is louder now. Not comforting — deafening. Renna is still watching, but not pressing. Her presence is like a lighthouse: constant, never chasing. “It wasn’t even what he said,” I mumble. “It was how relaxed he looked. How... light. Like nothing’s heavy for him.” Like I never existed in his weight.
Why wasn’t I enough? Was I ever anything? Did he know? Did I make it that obvious? Was I just a placeholder until she showed up? “I thought maybe,” I whisper. “I thought maybe he’d choose me.” And suddenly I’m there — not in this room, not in the now, but six weeks ago. On the rooftop. That first night of the meteor shower. FLASHBACK – Six Weeks Ago “You didn’t have to come up here with me,” I said, shivering slightly as I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders. Theo grinned, handing me a mug of tea. “Are you kidding? I’d follow you to Mars if the sky looked half this cool.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re such a liar.” “Only about half the time,” he said, nudging my shoulder with his. We sat in silence, watching the streaks of light dance across the sky. The world felt far away. Like it was just the two of us, orbiting outside of real life. Then he looked at me — not in that casual, half-distracted way. But really looked. Eyes soft. Searching. “If you could wish on one of these things,” he said slowly, “what would you ask for?” I didn’t answer.
BACK IN THE PRESENT I blink hard. My throat is dry. “I wish I’d never hoped,” I say, barely louder than a breath. “Hope’s crueller than the truth sometimes.” Renna doesn’t disagree. She just reaches for the box of tissues and sets it on the table beside me — not pushing, not telling me to take one. Just making space. For whatever comes next.
Theo I didn’t see her until it was too late. By the time I looked up from Lily’s laugh — that high, unbothered kind of laugh that doesn’t ask permission — Caroline was already walking away. No. Not walking. Fleeing. She moved like the ground had betrayed her — like it couldn’t hold the weight of whatever just cracked open inside her. And I didn’t go after her. Because I’m a coward. Lily said something else — something flirty, probably. I didn’t hear it. I just nodded, gave a half-smile, and hoped she wouldn’t notice I was already somewhere else. With Caroline. In my head. Again. Always. She doesn’t know, but I notice everything.
How she tucks her hair behind her ear twice when she’s overthinking. How she disappears into her own mind — and never invites anyone in. But with me... she lets a little light in sometimes. Just enough for me to see the shadows. And I don’t know what to do with that. We’re friends. Best friends, even. That’s what she calls it. That’s what we’ve always been. But lately, every time she smiles at me, I forget what that’s supposed to mean. And Lily? She’s easy. Bright. Fun. The kind of person who doesn’t ask much. I can laugh with her and not feel like I'm balancing on a wire. But it’s not the same. It’s never the same. Because when Caroline looks at me — when she used to — it felt like she saw me. Not just the smile. Not the guy who makes dumb jokes and pretends he doesn’t care about anything. She saw the mess. The confusion. The cracks I keep hidden. And she never flinched. I should’ve gone after her. But I didn’t.
If I said what I really feel... Then everything would change. And I’m not sure if I’m brave enough to lose her. Even if I already have.
Lucy They don’t know I saw her face. That look. That half-second when she saw us — me and Theo — together. The flinch she tried to hide, the way her eyes dropped like the moment had burned. And even now, even though she says she's fine, I know that look. Because I used to wear it, too. Caroline has always been quiet with her pain. She folds it into neat, unspoken corners. Smiles with it in her teeth. Pretends so well that people call it strength. But I know better. Because I used to live there — in the pretending. When Theo told me he used to like her, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. Not because I was jealous, but because it explained so much. The way he looked at her when she wasn’t watching. The silences. The sadness. I asked if he still liked her. He didn’t answer at first. That scared me more than if he’d said yes.
feel now... it’s different.” And I wanted to believe him. I still do. Being happy with someone is supposed to feel simple. But when that happiness starts growing on ground someone else is still grieving, it doesn’t feel like joy. It feels like guilt. I try to tell myself it’s okay. That Caroline had her chance. That Theo waited. That she pulled away. That she’s healing now. But some nights, I lie awake wondering if I’m just the safe choice. The one who showed up when the storm cleared. The after. And I hate that I even think that way. Because I love him. But I love her too. And that’s the part I never expected. That you can love two people in completely different ways, and still feel like you’re betraying one of them just by breathing around the other. I miss her. The real her. The one who used to braid my hair on sleepovers, who once ran through the rain barefoot just to make me laugh. The one who held my hand in the waiting room when my mom was sick. I don’t want to be the reason she hurts.
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