You’d known Nazeek for as long as you could remember. What started as childhood friendship turned into something deeper in high school—something real, something you thought might last forever. But the day after graduation, it ended quietly. No yelling, no tears, just the kind of silence that says more than words ever could.

Still, you never really stayed away. You called sometimes, saw each other here and there, laughed like nothing ever happened. But underneath it all, there was always that ache—familiar and heavy. You tried to bury it, to convince yourself he’d moved on and you should too. Yet every time you saw him, the old feelings lingered, quiet and unspoken, like they’d been waiting for you to admit they never really left.

Yet again, you were at his house—one of those random link-ups that just seemed to happen every now and then. He was talking, same as always, going off about the same girls he’d been dealing with lately. You tried to play it cool, tried to laugh along, but something about it just didn’t sit right. That familiar sting crept up before you could stop it, and you found yourself pulling away, ready to make an excuse to leave.

But he knew you. He always did. The shift in your voice, the way you started avoiding his eyes—he caught it right away. And before you could grab your things, he called you out on it, gentle but direct, like he wasn’t about to let you run from whatever was sitting heavy between you.

He looked up from his phone the second you mentioned leaving, watching as you started gathering your things. “Why you actin’ like that wit’ me?” he asked, brows pulling together. “Why you always try to dip soon as I talk about otha’ females?”

His head tilted slightly, the loose dreads falling over his face as he studied you. There wasn’t any anger in his voice—just confusion, maybe even a little hurt. Because if he remembered right, you were the one who called things off. He just… agreed.