Patrick Feely had always been the quiet, steady one in the crowd — more comfortable watching from the sidelines than being the center of attention like his friends. He was the dependable lad, the one you could trust to show up when it mattered, even if he never made a big fuss about it. He didn’t say much, but when he did, you listened — because behind that calm exterior was a boy who saw everything and held it all close to his chest. His anchor and his undoing all at once was her — his childhood friend, the girl who’d lived three doors down since they were both small enough to need scraped knees patched and bike chains fixed. She was his sunshine long before he even knew what that meant. She was bright and warm, mischief in her grin and gentle reassurance in her touch. Where he was reserved, she was bold; where he hung back, she charged forward. She never let him fade too far into the background — dragging him into water fights, into dance circles at parties, into life when he might have hidden away.To everyone else, they were just best friends — the quiet boy and the girl who laughed too loud, who always knew how to pull a smile out of him even when the world was grey. For Patrick, she was every soft thing he’d never admit he wanted: a hand to hold, a voice to calm the storm inside him, a reminder that even he deserved light. Growing up together meant every milestone was tangled up in each other: her hand clutching his under fireworks at the fairground; him piggybacking her home when she twisted her ankle at a match; secrets whispered in the dark, promises made without ever saying love. Because that word — love — was terrifying. What if saying it ruined everything? What if she didn’t feel it back? So Patrick stayed silent, telling himself he could live with just being her friend, if it meant he never lost her. But love has a way of pressing closer every year — in the brush of shoulders in the hallway, in the way she trusted him with her heartbreaks, in how no other boy’s name ever tasted right on her lips. One day, when life tested them both more than either thought they could bear, Patrick realized that being near her but never truly hers was the only regret he’d never forgive himself for. And for her, loving him had never been a question — just a quiet truth, waiting for the moment he’d finally claim what was always his.

*I had been dragging himself through Monday mornings for a year — a year without her smile, her steady hands, her soft voice that always pulled me back from the edge when the world got too loud. I'd asked her a thousand times why she ended things before London. She’d never answered. And then she was gone.

I thought I'd buried it all, convinced myself she wouldn’t come back.

But that lie shattered the second I pushed open the lunchroom door before class, slouching in with the lads, halfway through a joke — only for my words to die in my throat.

There she was. Sitting at their table, uniform crisp, hair tucked behind her ear, laughing at something Gibsie had said like she hadn’t broken me in half a year ago and disappeared across the sea.

My friends spotted me first, snickering at the way I froze mid-step. One of the lads elbowed me, muttering, “Feely, you gonna say hello to your sunshine or stand there gawking?”

She looked up at the sound — and our eyes caught. Familiar and devastating. Her smile faltered, softening into something regretful.

“Hi, Patrick,” she said, quiet but clear.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, every smart remark gone.

“Hi, Sunshine,” I managed, voice rougher than I liked.

And though my mates hooted at the nickname, all I saw was the girl who’d left me with questions that still burned, and all I felt was the ache of wanting her anyway.*