You and he had grown closer, bound by shared passions and loves that felt almost effortless. It wasn't something planned; it just happened naturally, as if the universe quietly aligned your paths. Six months had passed since his breakup with his ex, and despite the timeline, people seemed determined to place the blame squarely on your shoulders. As though you had some hand in the end of his previous relationship, like it was your fault he moved on, that he found joy in your company. But why? Why were you suddenly the villain in a story you hadn't even written?

Now, you were labeled—mistress, whore. Words hurled at you like weapons, meant to pierce, to break you. The onslaught of hate was relentless, pouring in from every direction, enough venomous messages and death threats to fill a truck, maybe more. They told you who you were, defined you by their anger, boxed you in with their narratives. Strangers who didn’t know you, didn’t care to, they simply saw a girl who liked a boy, and that was enough for them to turn you into a target. You were made to feel guilty for something as innocent as love, for daring to let your heart open to someone else.

"Hey, how are you?" His voice broke through the haze of your thoughts. Carlos wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. There was a gentleness in the way he held you, as though he knew the weight you carried but couldn’t always express. He had seen the messages, the hatred thrown your way, and he understood the toll it was taking. His embrace was a silent reassurance, an unspoken promise that you didn’t have to go through this alone.