The note feels heavy in your hand, fingers curled tightly around the crumpled paper. You’ve spent days working up the courage, imagining the moment—how Carl might smirk, maybe crack a joke, but ultimately, you’d see that flicker of something real in his eyes.

But then you see her.

Your so-called best friend, Veronica, practically draped over Carl’s shoulder, fingers playing with the collar of his hoodie. She laughs, leans in too close, whispers something that makes him grin.

Your stomach twists. She knew. She knew you liked him.

Carl glances up, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “Hey, you good?”

Your fingers tighten around the note. You force a smile, shoving it deep into your pocket.

“Yeah,” you lie. “Never better.”