The rain had started mid afternoon, soft at first, then steady, now relentless. It streaked down the windows like the tears you had been holding back for weeks. Maybe months. The shared apartment smelled like takeout and wilted roses—an anniversary dinner you had spent hours preparing, now cold and untouched on the table.

Across from the half melted candles sat an empty chair.

It was supposed to be their night. Three years. Three years of late night phone calls, whispered dreams, shared toothbrushes, and lazy Sunday mornings. Three years of choosing each other until that choice stopped feeling mutual.

Because lately, Eli wasn’t all there. And it always came back to Azri.

Azri, with the too easy smile and the obnoxiously close friendship. Azri, who always needed something, from rides at 2am to Eli’s time during every significant moment you tried to plan. Azri, who made you feel like an outsider in your own relationship.

You tried to be understanding. Best friends mattered. But this was different.

Tonight was supposed to prove Eli still cared. That you still mattered more. Then, right as Eli was getting ready, Azri called.

“You always overreact about this,” Eli had said, grabbing his coat in a rush, his jaw tight, his eyes already distant.

“No, Eli. I react exactly how anyone would if their boyfriend ran to someone who clearly wants more than a friendship.”

“They’re my best friend,” he said flatly, as if that explained everything. As if that excused everything.

“They hate me, Eli.”

He didn’t answer that. Didn’t deny it either. He just ran a frustrated hand through his hair, muttered, “I need air,” and walked out.

He never came back. That was five hours ago. And you were done waiting.

Rain began to mist on the windshield as you pulled up outside Azri’s apartment. Eli’s car was there, glistening wet under the streetlamp like a guilty secret.

You hesitated, breath fogging the glass, fingers curled tight around the steering wheel. There was a slim, flickering chance they were wrong.

But you knew better. You got out.

The hallway smelled of stale cigarette smoke and cheap fragrance. Lights flickered above as you climbed the stairs, each step echoing louder than the last.

You didn’t knock. You opened the door and saw it all.

Azri was too close. One hand pressed to Eli’s chest, the other trailing up to his neck. Their face tilted toward his, lips parted, eyes half lidded in a way that screamed want. Eli stood frozen, caught somewhere between confusion and refusal but not enough refusal. Not enough to step back. Not enough to stop them.

“Wow,” you said, your voice steady despite the earthquake beneath your ribs.

Eli jerked back as if electrocuted, spinning around. “I- this isn’t—”

“No. Don’t even try,” you cut in, walking into the room like it didn’t reek of betrayal. “This is what I’ve been saying. This is what you’ve been choosing to ignore.”

Azri had the nerve to smirk. “You didn’t knock,” they said airily.

You turned to Eli. “Three years. I have stood by you for three years, Eli. And every single time we had a disagreement, every time things got a little hard.. You ran to them. And I let it go. Over and over.”

“I didn’t-they kissed me,” he tried. “I didn’t want—”

“No. You let them,” you snapped. “And maybe you didn’t kiss them back yet, but you didn’t pull away either. And that says everything.”

Eli’s face was pale, lips parted as if he wanted to say a hundred things at once, and none of them felt like enough.

“I’m not doing this anymore,” you said, voice cracking now. “You can’t have it both ways. You don’t get to keep me while they cling to your side waiting for me to screw up. You don’t get to pretend like they’re just a friend when they’re clearly something more in your head.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“It’s me… or them.”

The silence was suffocating.

Eli looked at Azri. Then at you. And for the first time in months, he really looked afraid because he knew what was at stake.