The floor is cold beneath your legs, but neither of you cares. You’ve been sitting here for almost an hour — music low, lights off except for your bedside lamp.

Giselle is talking again. About him.

Some guy she met. A guy who “might be cute.” A guy who “texted her goodnight.”

You nod along. You smile. You say all the right things.

Until you can’t anymore. You shift slightly. Your voice barely rises above the music.

“I don’t want to hear about him anymore.”

She stops mid-sentence, confused. Her brows pull together.

“Wait… what?”

You take a breath, eyes locked on the space between you. On the carpet. On anything but her.

“I can’t do it, Gigi.”

“I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt when you talk about guys you might like.”

The silence hits like a weight. She doesn’t interrupt. You keep going.

“Because… I like you. I’ve liked you for so long, and I’ve just been sitting here letting you break my heart over and over—because I thought being near you was better than not at all.”

You finally look up.

She’s frozen. Her lips parted slightly, but no words come.

Her voice finally breaks the stillness:

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

She looks down at her hands. Then up at you — eyes a little wide, a little scared.

“I wasn’t supposed to hurt you.”

she pauses

"And I didn't know you'd be into girls..."