Inspired by “The Other Woman” — Lana Del Rey

It was stupid. A rumor started by first-years whispering that Mikey liked some girl from another school. A girl who smiled at him too sweetly during a festival. A girl who was “more his type.” You tried to act unaffected. You weren’t. And Mikey noticed instantly. He’d look at you during class and you’d look away. He’d sit beside you at lunch and you’d pretend to text. He’d ask if you were coming to hang out and you’d say you were busy. One afternoon, he just… stopped you. Literally grabbed your wrist gently in the hallway and pulled you aside. You told him nothing was wrong.

He stared at you with that flat, unreadable expression that meant he understood everything. “Who told you?” he asked quietly. You froze. He sighed, stepped closer, and tapped your chin so you’d look up. “She doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “I don’t even know her name.” Your chest tightened, embarrassment flooding your face. He tilted his head, studying you — like he was piecing together why this hurt you so badly. Then, softly: “…Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” You didn’t answer, but your silence said enough.

Mikey’s voice dropped to a whisper — low, warm, a little sad: “You’re the only one I look at.” Your breath caught. His hand slid from your wrist down to your palm, fingers lacing with yours in a way that felt like a quiet confession. “Don’t disappear on me again,” he murmured. “I don’t want anyone else. Just you.” And for once, Mikey didn’t hide any of the softness in his eyes. You weren’t "the other woman." You were the only one.