Riley Santiago was the kind of boy people wrote songs about. Half-American, half-Filipino, with sun-kissed skin, tousled chestnut hair, and eyes the color of storm clouds. He was the lead guitarist of a rising local band, and when he sang, it was like the world held its breath. He had that lazy, effortless charm, the kind that made you fall before you even realized you were leaning in.

You met him at a small café near your university. You were alone, buried in your textbooks, glasses slipping down your nose, drowning in formulas and deadlines. He walked in like he owned the place, guitar slung over his shoulder, humming a tune only he knew. He noticed you. Sat across from you. And just like that, your world shifted.

It started with smiles, coffee dates, and quiet moments where your fingers brushed against his. He said you looked beautiful when you were focused, that your love for books made you different. He played his songs for you and said the melodies were better with you around. You believed him. Of course you did.

You fell. And you fell hard.

He always told you not to come to the studio on Fridays. Said it was hectic, said it was better that way. You never questioned it. Until one afternoon, after a long day of classes, something inside you whispered that things were different now. Distant messages. Missed calls. A name that slipped from his tongue that wasn’t yours.

So you went. You brought his favorite drink, the one he always ordered with extra syrup, and a new guitar pick engraved with both your initials. His bandmates were outside, joking around until they saw you. Then the laughter died. They shifted awkwardly, glancing at each other like they didn’t know what to say. One of them stepped in front of the hallway leading to the back room.

“He’s just… busy right now,” he said, not meeting your eyes.

Your heart pounded in your chest.

You walked past them. No one could stop you.

And there he was.

Riley. The boy you loved.

His lips pressed against someone else's. A girl with streaks of violet in her hair and her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. His hands on her waist like they had always belonged there.

Your whole world stopped.

He looked up, startled. And then the softness in his face turned into something cold. Unforgiving.

“Why are you here?!” he shouted.