(you have a dislike for the singer ari abdul but are forced by your manager to attempt to collaborate on a song together and the collaboration goes a little too far)
you have yet to meet a person who annoys you more than arianna abdul. you both are in the alternative indie pop genre and something about her is just aggravating. she carries herself with such a big ego for an artist so small and unknown. yeah she had one song that blew up but it was only on tiktok and barely known now.
you cant be talking because you yourself are a small artist but still, atleast you admit it, ari just acts like shes hot shit.
your manager arranged a collab with her a while back and it was like she was trying to tell YOU what to do like shes the higher up compared to you.
it was insufferable and with that, the collab fell through. from then on you decided, fuck ari abdul and her music.
âcome on sky you know this will be good for recognition, you just have to stay professionalâ - your manager said encouragingly
âi cant do it. do you know how irritating she is? and she tries to keep this act of being a innocent artist just trying to help, its insufferable!â you say
âwell weâre gonna just go to the studio to meet with her, if you want to leave genuinely, then we can leave and you wonât have to speak to her again.â
âfine.â
you walk into the recording studio and are greeted by none other than arianna abdul herself.
âhey skyâ
you roll your eyes, âariâ
âwhatâs the attitude for?â she laughs and you somehow are more upset by her laugh and tone than you are by even her presence
âyoure irritating and im forced to do this so quit the small talk and letâs just do thisâ you say impatiently
âyes maamâ
âewâ
you guys sit there for a minute and she shows you the instrumental she has been working on
âiâm thinking like an obsessive kind of song, like no matter how hard you try to just get rid of the thought of them, they always always always are in the back of your mind. like you would go to the ends of the earth for themâ she explains, clearly passionate in her so called art
âi guess i could fuck with itâ you say
âgood i donât think you had a choiceâ she smiles at you while saying that, you get goosebumps as she looks at you, her eyes looking you up and down but you chalk that up to just your skin crawling due to the disgust she brings you
âwhateverâ
âyeah whateverâ she laughs ânow i have a verse written that i think you would be perfect forâ
âwill i like it?â you inquire
âi mean ill like hearing these words come out that mouth of yoursâ she says and hands you a paperâ
âso thatâs a noâ
she has you sing about a deep love and admiration for someone, so deep that it feels like the world stops when they are around. feels like your chest tightens when you see them and the way they look at you makes you get more entranced by the second. you immerse yourself in what youre singing, genuinely feeling what is meant to be felt, even if you dont have anyone particularly in mind.
ari looks at you softly, nodding like she made the right decision to have you be on the song.
âyoure doing perfectlyâ she says
âi dont know if thats a compliment coming from youâ you say annoyed
âlose the fucking attitude.â she says sharply which is random because she doesnt ever drop the persona she has
âyes maamâ you say reluctantly
âgood.â
you guys talk some more and change a few lyrics here and there and right another verse, this time its ari singing, and its about an unreciprocated love for someone who doesnt care.
the lyrics are specific but you pay no mind, this is a job, nothing else.
âi want to sing it all together, you sing the first verse and ill the do the second but we both sing the chorus. do the higher melody, i know you canâ she orders
you roll your eyes, annoyed by her ability to order you around and think shes in charge. âokay whateverâ
you both sing the song, looking at eachother as you do so. ari sings about being utterly obsessed with this person who will never understand the love she has for them. she sings about enjoying the bickering and attitude given to her.
you look at her a certain way, like you think its about you but dont want it to be, but at the same time, you dont want it to be about anyone other than you.
you have to remind yourself you hate this girl. this girl with her sharp deep brown eyes, and majestic hair, perfect smile and a voice that makes your legs shake- no. this is professional and you hate her.
when the instrumental is finished running its course and you both are done singing, you look at her.
âso whos the unlucky girl?â you inquire with a smirk
âokay fuck you and did i ever say it was about someone?â she bites back
âseems like it, your eyes tell it all.â
âoh you mean the eyes you wont stop staring at?â she smiles
âfuck off, i just am professional and know how to make eye contact thank you!â you snap
âso being professional means looking at me like you want to pounce on me?â
âwas not!â
âsure babyâ she smirks, knowing that her words are getting to you
âj-just shut up okay?!?!â you say getting nervous with each word she says
âcome on sky, you know you like it. stop pretending you hate me alreadyâ
âi do hate you. youre annoying and self centered!â you argue back
âthen stop stuttering and show me how much you hate meâ she steps closer
âari.â
âskyler.â she takes another step closer
as she comes closer to you, you find yourself giving in, wanting more. and you arent mad about it.
âtell me how much you want me baby.â ari says grabbing your chin
âi-â
âyouâŚâ she says softly âyou got itâ
âi want you.â what the fuck are you even saying right now
this is ari abdul. the girl you hate. the girl who annoys you and makes your skin crawl. the girl who makes you lean into her touch more as her eyes go to your lips.
âgood girl.â she kisses you
her hands go to your waist as your arms wrap around her neck. she kisses you passionately, as if shes been waiting for this moment since the first interaction you had.
you push her onto the chair in the studio and straddle her. still making sure your mouth is on her.
she lets out a gasp as she falls back onto the chair but is quickly cut off by your lips on hers.
her hand trails down and she grabs your ass, still kissing you, she makes you rock back and forth on her.
your mouth drops open and youre gasping. she takes this as a chance to kiss and bite on your neck, making sure to get every inch of you.
âa-ari..â
âyeah baby? im right here, youre doing so good for me angel.â she reassures you.
she slips her hand under you and presses her palm into your groin, letting out a moan of success when she hears the sounds that come out of your filthy mouth.
âjust like that, you sound so good for me angelâ she says in between sucking on your neck
âf-fuck! i h-hate youâ you attempt to say
âoh do you? the moans say otherwiseâ
she then slips her hand into your pants, then your undergarments. âawh so wet for meâ she remarks
âoh fuck you, this is probably your wet dreamâ you say trying to still have the upper hand
âno baby clearly its yoursâ and with that she slides two fingers inside you. immediately immersing herself in the tightness around her middle and ring finger.
you let out a loud gasp and moan once you feel the curling inside of you, giving you exactly what you didnt know you needed this entire time.
âi-i-imâ you try to make out a sentence but cant as your mind turns to mush due to the movements of her fingers
âyoure what baby? you gonna cum for mommy?â she says picking up the pace
âf-fuck y-y-yesâ you barely get out but before you reach your climax you hear the door of the studio opening and sprawl to get up
both of your managers stand in the doorway with a shocked expression and ari does nothing but lick her fingers
âthe room isnt soundproof by the way.â your manager says
âwell atleast you both have agreed on something?â her manager quinn says.
ari just laughs while you sit there flushed and confused about what the fuck just happened.
a/n: based off of back to friends by sombr (it's been on repeat guys)
wc: 4.7k (i fear i wrote a lot)
the night is quiet the kind of quiet that doesnât just fill a room, but seeps into your skin. it settles low in your chest, soft and heavy, calming the noise in your head. outside, the city has dimmed into a distant hum, muffled by thick windows and the late hour. inside, everything feels suspended like time is holding its breath.
a movie plays on the screen, flickering in muted color. something you picked without thinking, half-heartedly scrolling until one of you said, âsure, that works.â neither of you really cared. the plot drifts in and out of your awareness, dialogue murmuring like background static. itâs not about the movie. it never was.
youâre stretched out on the couch, your body curved into hers like a question mark searching for its answer. billieâs arm is draped around your waist, her fingers resting light and warm against the thin fabric of your shirt. your legs are tangled beneath the throw blanket, soft and worn, the kind that smells faintly of her detergent and something deeply, unmistakably her.
the room glows dimly with the changing light from the tv. soft blues, silvers, the occasional flash of amber play across her face, casting gentle shadows on her cheekbones, the delicate hollow of her throat, the edge of her jaw. the light dances along the walls in slow, lazy waves, like water moving across a ceiling.
her house is quiet too. too big, too still when youâre alone. but with her, it feels full, like the space bends itself around the both of you. every creak in the floorboards, every distant shift of the pipes, every soft sigh of the heating vents sounds intentional, like the house is breathing alongside you.
you shift slightly and her hand moves with you, adjusting without thought. she doesnât look away from the screen, but her thumb starts to trace slow, absent circles against your side, grounding you without a word.
your head is resting against her chest, and beneath the fabric of her shirt, you can hear her heartbeat, steady, slow, familiar. you werenât looking for comfort, but here it is, quiet and effortless. something you didnât realize youâd been aching for.
and for a little while, thatâs all there is, the soft glow of the tv, the warmth of her beside you, and the steady hush of a night that feels like it was made just for the two of you.
you feel her fingers in your hair, slow and rhythmic. sheâs not even looking at the screen anymore. neither are you, really. the movie is just background noise now. her touch, the warmth of her body, the hush between you, this is what youâve come to rely on.
itâs not the first time youâve fallen asleep like this. not even the tenth.
but tonight, something feels different.
you donât know when it starts exactly. one minute youâre dozing, barely clinging to consciousness, and the next, you feel her hand move. not abruptly. itâs not a sudden jolt or anything like that. just⌠a slow, deliberate shift.
her hand slides from your hair, down your back, tracing a path through the thin fabric of your shirt. you tense, but only slightly. itâs not out of place, not entirely. youâre used to her being affectionate. itâs always been that way with billie. touch was just part of how she spoke when words fell short.
still, something about this moment makes your breath catch.
her hand trails further, fingers ghosting over your waist, and then, after a beat, it comes to rest on your thigh. lightly. barely there.
you pretend not to notice.
you keep your eyes closed, your head on her chest, focusing on the sound of her heartbeat instead of the warmth of her palm on your skin. you wonder if she knows what sheâs doing. if she feels the shift too, the quiet ache pulling the air tighter around you both.
her thumb strokes gently, once, over the bare skin beneath your sleep shorts. you swallow hard. you could move. say something. break the spell.
but you donât.
because this is billie. your best friend. the person you trust more than anyone. the one who knows you better than you know yourself.
and itâs not like this is new. youâve always been close. always lingered in each otherâs spaces a little too long. touched a little too often. whispered secrets into each otherâs skin when the world felt too loud.
but tonight, it feels like teetering on the edge of something you both promised never to name.
the movie flickers in front of you, forgotten. her hand is still on your thigh, unmoving now, like sheâs waiting. testing. you wonder if sheâs holding her breath, too. if her chest is as tight as yours.
you shift slightly, not away, never away, but enough that your leg brushes hers more fully. an invitation, or a question. you donât even know.
her fingers tighten just barely.
you feel the answer in that.
the silence stretches. not awkward, never awkward with her, but loaded. charged.
you want to ask her what sheâs thinking, but your lips wonât move. you want to say something stupid like, âwhat are we doing?â but you're afraid the words might unravel everything.
so you stay quiet. and so does she.
instead, you lift your head a little, just enough to glance at her.
her eyes are already on you.
sheâs not smiling. not smirking. just watching you with this look thatâs too tender, too knowing. like she sees every single thing youâre trying not to say.
your heart skips. her hand doesnât move.
âare you still watching?â she asks, her voice a whisper against the noise of the film.
âno,â you say, barely louder, your voice slipping just a little bit.
she nods, once, like she expected that. her gaze flicks to your lips and back. you feel it like a spark down your spine.
you know this is the moment. that thin, trembling line between friendship and something else, something youâve both danced around for years.
she doesnât lean in. she doesnât kiss you. not yet.
instead, she looks at you like sheâs waiting for permission. like sheâs asking you without asking.
and you?
you give it.
your hand finds hers on your thigh, fingers brushing until they curl together, slow and deliberate. her touch is warm, a little unsure, but when you lace your fingers with hers, she doesnât hesitate. it feels like anchoring, like you're both trying to hold onto something neither of you have words for yet.
she exhales, the sound slipping from her like itâs been sitting heavy on her chest for too long. itâs soft, somewhere between relief and confession.
âi donât know what weâre doing,â she whispers, not looking at you. her voice is quiet, like itâs meant only for the space between your skin.
you squeeze her hand, your thumb tracing the back of hers. âme neither,â you say, just as softly.
but neither of you pull away.
minutes pass. or maybe longer. the movie fades into credits, then silence, and still, youâre wrapped around each other. her arms around your waist now, your body pressed into hers, legs tangled like roots, like if you let go, you might fall through the floor.
her breath is on your neck, warm and unsteady. when you shift slightly, your thigh brushes between hers, and she tenses, just barely. you feel it, the way her hand grips yours a little tighter, the way her lips part like she wants to say something but canât quite.
you turn your head, slow, until your nose brushes against her cheek. her skin is warm. flushed.
âokay?â you murmur.
she nods. her eyes flutter shut as you press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, tentative, testing. she meets you there, softly, then again, a little deeper this time. the kiss is slow, careful, but thereâs heat under it. like youâve both been waiting for this, like something finally clicked into place.
her hands move, one slides up your back, the other finds your hip. your bodies shift, drawn together instinctively, and the blanket slips lower, forgotten. your fingers find the hem of her shirt, not pushing yet, just resting there, feeling the warm skin underneath. she breathes out against your lips, a shaky little sound that makes your stomach flip.
you pull back just enough to see her face. her pupils are blown wide, lips kiss-swollen. âyou sure?â you ask again, because you need her to know she can stop this at any point.
she nods, then leans in, not with words, but with her mouth against yours, her body pressing closer. your hands move without thinking now, exploring in slow passes, learning the map of her like itâs something holy.
everything is unhurried. thereâs no rush. just quiet sighs and soft gasps and the weight of want thatâs been building for too long. clothes shift, skin meets skin in pieces, a shoulder exposed here, a bare stomach there. her fingers trail under your shirt, painting fire along your ribs.
and when she whispers your name, low and reverent, it doesnât sound like lust. it sounds like home.
you donât go further than this, not tonight. not all the way. but itâs enough, this closeness, this warmth, the way youâre both holding on like you finally know what you want, even if you still donât know what to call it.
you can feel it. in your skin. in the way your heart beats when she shifts closer. in the way her lips brush your forehead like a promise.
you want to believe this is real. that this is the start of something youâve both been waiting for, even if you didnât say it out loud.
but part of you is scared.
because you know billie. you know how much she feels and how quickly she runs when it gets too big. too real.
still, in this moment, with her breath warm against your temple and her fingers laced with yours, you let yourself believe.
just for tonight.
you believe that maybe, just maybe, this isnât just another one of those moments youâll have to pretend didnât mean anything.
the clock reads 2:41 am when you finally drift off.
the movie is long over. billieâs breathing is steady. her hand is still on your thigh, now relaxed and open. her body is curved around yours like a question youâre too afraid to answer.
years later the two of you take a trip together. just the two of you, no bodyguards, no unwanted photos. just you.
hawaii feels like a dream.
it always does when youâre with her, sunlight skipping over ocean water, wind tangled in your hair, and billie beside you, her fingers laced with yours like they belong there. you came out here on a whim, a getaway from everything loud. from la. from the press. from the pressure. just the two of you and the kind of silence that doesnât need filling.
you spent the day swimming in clear blue water and sharing shaved ice that melted too fast under the sun. you wore her hoodie over your swimsuit and she called you a thief but didnât ask for it back. she never does. never did.Â
now, itâs just the two of you on the beach. the sun is beginning to sink into the ocean, bleeding orange and pink into the horizon. billie sits beside you in the sand, knees pulled up, her chin resting on them. she's quiet. sheâs been quiet all day.
you watch her out of the corner of your eye. thereâs something in her face that you canât name. not exactly sadness,but something close. like sheâs carrying a weight she canât set down.
"you're not watching the sunset," you say softly, bumping your shoulder into hers.
she huffs a little, but doesn't look at you. "iâve seen a lot of sunsets."
you roll your eyes. "yeah, but this oneâs with me."
that gets the tiniest smile out of her. barely there, but enough.
she finally turns to you. her hair's wind-blown and messy, cheeks slightly flushed from the sun, freckles dancing across her nose. you think she looks like summer incarnate. and maybe a little like heartbreak.
you reach out and brush a strand of hair out of her eyes. she leans into your touch.
âhey,â you say gently. âwhatâs going on in your pretty head?â
she hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip. she does that when she's trying not to cry. you know her tells. you know all of them.
she doesnât answer you. not directly.
instead, she shifts closer until your knees are touching and says, âiâm gonna marry you one day.â
you blink.
âwhat?â
she doesnât smile when she says it again, slower this time: âiâm gonna marry you.â
it hits you like a wave.
you canât breathe for a second. canât think. sheâs said tender things before, called you her person, told you she couldnât live without you. but this⌠this is different. this is forever.
you search her face, but thereâs something stormy in her eyes. something that doesnât match the softness of her words.
you take her hand, fingers slotting into hers. she squeezes back immediately, like she needs it. like she might fall apart if you let go.
âokay,â you whisper. âthen iâll marry you back.â
that gets another tiny smile. but her eyes are glassy now, and when she blinks, you think you see tears.
you want to ask her whatâs wrong. press her. pull it out of her.
but you donât.
because part of you already knows.
you donât know the details, donât have the names or the timeline, but you can feel it in your gut. the way her mood shifted out of nowhere. the way sheâs been checking her phone all day, then hiding the screen from you. the way her laugh sounded hollow at dinner, like she was playing the part of someone carefree.
still, you sit there with her, watching the sun disappear into the ocean, your hands interlaced.
she leans her head on your shoulder, and you feel her body exhale like itâs the first time sheâs allowed herself to breathe.
âi donât deserve you,â she whispers.
you turn toward her sharply. âdonât say that.â
she shakes her head, not meeting your eyes. âi donât. i just⌠i wish you knew.â
âknew what?â you ask, voice barely above the wind.
she doesnât answer. just keeps staring out at the water, like it holds some truth she canât give you.
you let the silence grow between you for a few beats, then rest your head against hers.
âyou donât have to be perfect,â you say. âyou just have to be real with me.â
she laughs, but itâs cracked and bitter. âthatâs the problem.â
you donât know what to do with that. it feels like something important, like a key sheâs slipping into your hand without telling you which door it unlocks.
you press your lips to her temple. her skin is warm, and she smells like salt and sunscreen and billie.
âyou donât have to say anything right now,â you whisper. âbut when youâre ready⌠iâll be here.â
her hand tightens around yours.
and still, she doesnât speak.
itâs been two years since that sunset in hawaii.
two years of late nights and early mornings, of music and airports and whispered i love youâs when no one else was listening. two years of fighting sometimes, making up always, and building something that felt permanent in a world where nothing ever stayed.
the night she proposes, itâs raining in malibu. she gets down on one knee in the sand and asks if she can love you for the rest of her life.
you say yes.
always, yes.
you believe her.
you believe every word she said.
and the night before your wedding, you still believe her when she kisses your forehead and says sheâs just going to the studio. her lips are soft, lingering for a second too long, like she's stalling, and her eyes are tired but calm. you smile up at her from the couch, legs tucked under a throw blanket, heart swelling with the kind of hope that feels too big to hold.
âdonât stay too late,â you whisper, and she promises, âi wonât.â
you believe her.
you believe her even when midnight turns to one, and one becomes two, and the shadows stretch long and thin across the living room walls. the candles you lit for no reason but comfort have long since burned out. your phone screen glows with unread messages you never sent.
you still believe her when you lie down on her side of the bed because it smells more like her, vanilla and musk, sharp and clean.
you believe her until itâs 3:30 a.m., and the lock hasnât turned, and the hallway is still empty, and the silence is starting to feel like a warning. your eyes are blurry from not blinking enough. your body is exhausted, but your heart is wide awake.
and then her ipad lights up on the dresser.
a name you donât recognize.
not a contact. just a first name. just lowercase letters and a red heart next to them.
the message is short. casual.
âsame time next week?â
you donât move.
you just stare at it, light burning your retinas, your breath caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat.
the clock ticks.
and for the first time, you stop believing her.
you read it again.
and again.
and when she finally comes home, twenty minutes too late, hair tousled and jacket half-off her shoulder, like she was in a rush to look undone, she freezes the second she sees you.
youâre sitting on the edge of the bed, still in your robe, the light from her iPad glowing like a wound between your hands.
her mouth opens. her voice, hoarse, small, breaks the stillness like a match in a gas leak.
âi can explain.â
and maybe once, you wouldâve let her.
but not now.
not after three missed calls.
not after the ache of watching that message bubble appear and disappear and appear again.
not after everything you sacrificed to believe in her.
you don't say a word.
you set the ipad down. quietly. like itâs made of glass.
and you get up and walk away.
because nothing she could say would ever make this right.
not the vows you spent months writing but never read aloud.
not the wedding that never happens.
not the dress still hanging in the corner of the room, ghost-white, untouched.
not the way her sobs, syncopated, ragged, pleading, echo off the walls long after youâve locked the bathroom door and collapsed to the cold tile floor.
you believed her.
and you were wrong.
because love doesnât always make people good.
and sometimes, even the softest hearts learn to close.
you sit with your back against the bathroom wall, knees pulled to your chest. the tile is cold against your spine, unforgiving. sterile. like a hospital room. like a morgue.
your hands tremble in your lap, useless.
you donât cry. not right away.
grief is too patient for that.
it wants you to notice everything first.
so you stare at the grout lines between the floor tiles.
at the edge of the bath mat, frayed from her stepping on it every morning.
at the sleeve of your robe where it bunches at your wrist. she used to kiss that spot. said you looked prettiest in the mornings. said a lot of things.
thereâs a ringing in your ears. sharp. relentless.
like the aftermath of an explosion, except no one heard the blast but you.
outside, sheâs falling apart.
you can hear it.
the sobs that start with a breath and end with a choke.
the way she whispers your name like itâll summon you. like prayer.
like a confession.
and maybe hours ago, it wouldâve cracked you open.
but now?
now it feels like someone elseâs storm.
your eyes land on your ring.
your fingers, without thinking, move to touch it. the metal feels heavier tonight. colder. like it knows what happened.
you twist it slowly.
once.
twice.
then you slide it off.
not in anger. not in rage.
just⌠quietly.
and you place it on the edge of the sink with both hands like youâre setting down a memory.
you donât scream.
you donât throw anything.
you donât break.
you simply stop.
when you finally open the door, the house feels like it's holding its breath.
sheâs sitting on the living room floor, right where she mustâve fallen. legs pulled up, arms hugging herself so tightly it looks like sheâs trying to disappear inside her own skin. her cheeks are blotchy. her mascara is streaked in uneven rivers. she looks like she hasnât taken a full breath since she walked in and saw you holding the truth.
when she looks up, itâs like she expects mercy.
but you have nothing left to give.
her voice is shattered. raw.
âi thought i could handle it. all of it. the pressure. the expectations. being someone you could rely on. i thought⌠if i could just feel something else for a second, it would go away.â
you stand there, watching her fold in on herself, and what rises in your chest isnât rage.
itâs something worse.
pity.
not forgiveness. not sympathy. just the hollow ache of realizing the person you wouldâve given your life to⌠couldnât even stay loyal for one night.
you walk forward. slow. deliberate. you sit across from her on the floor. your knees nearly touch. she flinches at the closeness. maybe she expected you to scream. to leave. to stop loving her.
maybe she doesnât know that you already did.
âwhat did you feel, billie?â you ask softly. âdid it fix you? did it make you less afraid?â
she opens her mouth. nothing comes out.
you tilt your head, eyes burning, not with tears, but with truth.
âwas i too real?â
a whisper now.
âtoo much of a promise you didnât know how to keep?â
her whole face crumples.
you almost reach for her.
you donât.
instead, you say what you didnât know you had the strength to say:
âi wouldâve loved you through anything. god, i did. but thatâs not the question anymore, is it?â
she doesnât answer.
she just cries harder.
as if tears could fix what choice destroyed.
you stare at her like sheâs already gone. like youâre memorizing the end of the story.
"i donât hate you," you whisper, barely audible. "but i canât do this. i wonât."
and then you stand.
she doesnât stop you.
maybe she knows she canâtmaybe she knows that what she broke wasn't just your heartâit was the part of you that believed in forever.
you go into the bedroom. it smells like her. everything does. every drawer you open. every shirt you touch. itâs like sheâs trying to haunt you before youâve even left.
you pack slowly. deliberately. like if you donât focus on folding every corner, youâll fall apart.
you donât touch the dress.
you donât even look at it.
when the suitcase zips closed, it sounds like a door slamming shut.
the hallway outside your apartment feels like another world. too bright. too quiet. no one else knows the life you just left behind. no one knows you're walking out of what was supposed to be your future.
you donât take the elevator.
you need the stairs.
need the climb.
need the breathlessness.
you need to feel the weight of every single step it takes to leave her behind.
when you push open the door to the street, dawn is just bleeding into the sky. soft pinks and oranges. the world looks like itâs beginning.
and you feel like youâre ending.
your phone vibrates in your pocket.
you donât check it.
you already know what it says.
please donât go.
please come back.
please let this be fixable.
but itâs not. not anymore.
because love thatâs real doesnât lie.
doesnât cheat.
doesnât come home at 3:30 a.m. and ask for grace without offering truth.
you hail a car. the driver asks where youâre headed.
you pause. for the first time all night, you breathe.
âanywhere but here.â
you hear her everywhere.
in the weeks that follow, itâs like the universe decides to become cruel. everything becomes her voice, her song, her name, said in passing, or echoing from open car windows, or bleeding out of cafĂŠ speakers like the worldâs in on some inside joke you werenât told.
at first, itâs a dull ache. background noise. white static at the edges of your day.
but then itâs worse.
her name pops up on someoneâs instagram story.
you scroll too fast and your thumb hits the volume button â suddenly her laugh is in your lap, in your hands, and your heart lurches like it still belongs to her.
you throw your phone across the bed and stare at the ceiling for an hour. your chest rising in shallow breaths. your hands gripping the sheets like youâre still trying to hold her down beside you.
you go days without leaving the apartment.
your friend tries her best. brings food. leaves water bottles around like youâre a ghost sheâs trying to keep hydrated. you nod, and smile when you remember to. you say âiâm okayâ more times than it feels real.
but you're not.
because nothing about this makes you feel okay.
one day, youâre in line at the grocery store, holding a box of cereal and oat milk like thatâs all it takes to stay alive. you're barely functioning, sleep-deprived, wearing sunglasses inside because your eyes give you away too easily now.
you turn the corner, and nearly walk right into her.
your body freezes before your brain catches up.
sheâs standing ten feet from you, next to the apples, hair pulled back into a loose bun, hoodie too big, headphones around her neck like always. she looks exactly the same, and completely different.
she doesnât see you at first. sheâs staring down at a green apple in her hand, thumb running slowly across the skin. for a second, something tightens in your chest, a memory so sharp it cuts before you can stop it:
her sitting on the kitchen counter, biting into an apple and grinning, juice running down her wrist.
âyou always make that face like itâs too loud,â she laughed once. âjust eat the damn thing.â
your stomach flips.
you take a step back, too quickly. the cereal box almost slips from your hands.
and then she looks up.
and you swear time stutters.
her eyes land on you.
and for a breath, just a single breath, everything in the world holds still.
you canât move.
canât speak.
canât do anything but stand there, your ribs caught in a vise.
her lips part like she might say your name.
but she doesnât.
she just blinks.
adjusts her headphones.
and turns away.
like youâre no one.
like youâre air.
like she didnât once trace the lines of your spine with her fingertips while whispering iâve never loved anyone like this before.
you stand there for a long time.
too long.
long enough for the woman behind you in line to sigh and mutter something under her breath. long enough for your fingers to go numb from how tightly youâre clutching the milk.
you make it to the checkout somehow. your voice cracks when you say âdebit.â the cashier doesnât look at you twice. she doesnât know that your whole world just ended again, right between produce and self-checkout.
you walk home in silence, plastic bag swinging limply at your side. you donât cry.
youâre too tired to cry.
later that night, lying on your side of a bed that now feels too wide, you whisper into the dark:
âhow can you look at me like that?â
your voice doesnât echo.
no one answers.
because she did.
because she looked at you and pretended you were no one.
like you hadnât held each other in the quietest hours of the night.
like you hadnât learned every inch of her skin by heart.
like you hadnât given her every version of love you had, and then some.
you wonder how two people can go from forever to strangers.
and you wonder why the world keeps turning like it didnât just lose something sacred.
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