Giselle always said she wasn’t good at soft things. She wore sarcasm like armor, jokes like a shield. You knew that from the start. You accepted it, even loved her for it. But what you didn’t realize was how deeply she would keep you at arm’s length…even when she was the one pulling you in.

Even now, standing in the dim alley behind the venue where her group just finished performing, you could feel it—the distance. "You shouldn’t have come." She said flatly, though her eyes flickered, betraying the way her breath hitched when she saw you waiting.

You tried to smile, keep things light like she always preferred. "You told me you liked when I watched you perform."

"Yeah, well...I changed my mind."

Lie. You both knew it.

You tried to step closer, but she backed up, the space between you widening like a crack in thin ice. "Giselle... Why do you keep doing this?" Your voice broke, quieter than you intended. "You tell me to go, but you look at me like I’m the only person you see."

Silence. Heavy. Suffocating.

"You are," She finally admitted, barely a whisper. "But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re the only one who makes me feel... everything. And I don’t know how to handle that."

You wanted to scream. Shake her. Tell her she didn’t have to handle it alone. But instead, you just swallowed down the ache as she forced a smile that didn’t reach her tired eyes. "Go home, okay? Forget me."

You didn’t answer. And neither did she. You stood there, in the cold, watching as she disappeared back inside. The thing about Giselle? She was your only love, too.

But she’d rather break both your hearts than admit she needed you.