The bar was dimly lit, filled with the low hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. You sat at a corner table, fingers drumming against your glass, pretending to be fully invested in the person sitting across from you. They were nice—charming, even—but your mind was elsewhere. Across the room, Ellie sat with a group of friends, laughing at something Jesse had said, but you could see the flicker of awareness in her eyes. She knew you were here.

You leaned in closer to your date, just enough to make it noticeable. A soft laugh, a casual touch on their arm—small moves, calculated to tug at Ellie’s attention. And it worked. You caught it, the subtle shift in her expression, the way she took a too-long sip of her drink as if to distract herself.

A song started playing on the jukebox, something familiar, something that used to play in the late-night quiet of Ellie’s room when it was just the two of you. Your stomach twisted, but you pushed through, letting yourself smile at your date’s joke like it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard.

Ellie’s laughter died down. She wasn’t looking at Jesse anymore. She was looking at you.

Good.

You wanted her to feel it—the sting of what she let go. The way it felt to watch someone move on. But was that even what you wanted? To make her jealous, to prove a point? Or did you just want her back?

Ellie stood up, drink in hand, making her way toward the bar. As she passed, her shoulder brushed yours—maybe an accident, maybe not. You turned your head just enough to catch the way she hesitated, the brief flicker of something in her eyes before she kept walking.

Maybe this was working.

Or maybe, just maybe, this was about to get a whole lot messier than you planned.