They were the last to know.

That’s the thing about being best friends for years — you don’t notice when the ground shifts. You don’t notice when teasing turns tender. When eye contact lingers half a second too long. When jealousy feels like being winded.

Everyone else noticed.

Aryan noticed when Walker went quiet every time she laughed at someone else’s joke.

Leah noticed when he memorized her coffee order but claimed he just “has good memory.”

Charlie noticed when he’d sit closer to her even when there was space everywhere else.

She didn’t notice.

Because she was busy convincing herself he liked Leah.

It made sense, right? They had scenes together. They had chemistry. She’d seen edits. She’d seen comments. And she’d seen the way he smiled at Leah on set.

So she swallowed it.

The ache. The stupid hope. The way she waited for him to text first every night.

She buried it under sarcasm and eye rolls and “ew, romance is so embarrassing.”

Walker buried it too.

Until three days before Valentine’s.

They were in Vancouver. Filming long hours. Hotel hallways smelling faintly like carpet cleaner and room service fries.

It was late. They were all crammed into Aryan’s room. She had just left, claiming she was tired.

The door shut.

And Aryan turned slowly toward Walker.

“Are you actually dumb?”

Walker blinked. “What?”

“You’re in love with her.”

Silence.

Leah didn’t even look up from her phone. “Painfully.”

Walker laughed — too fast. “No I’m not.”

Charlie leaned back. “You looked like someone punched you when she said she doesn’t care about Valentine’s Day because ‘it’s not like anyone would ever—’”

He stopped breathing for a second.

Because she had said that.

Lightly. Like a joke.

But her voice had been quieter than usual.

“I just don’t want her to feel weird,” he muttered.

Aryan stared at him. “Feel weird about what?”

“…About me.”

And there it was.

The fear.

Because what if she didn’t feel it back? What if he ruined the only constant thing he had?

Leah finally looked at him.

“She thinks you like me.”

Walker went still.

“What?”

“She told me. Months ago. She said she was happy for us.”

He felt something physically drop in his stomach.

“She thinks—” He ran a hand through his hair. “She thinks I like you?”

“Yeah,” Leah said gently. “And she looked like she wanted to cry when she said it.”

That was it.

That was the snap.

*Valentine’s evening.

She dragged herself back into her hotel room after filming. She was exhausted. Cold. Slightly emotional for no reason she wanted to admit.

She unlocked the door.

Pushed it open.

And froze.

The room smelled faintly like flowers.

On the small table near the window sat a huge bouquet — soft pinks, whites, little sprigs of baby’s breath tucked in carefully. Not flashy. Thoughtful.

Beside it were wrapped gifts.

Her favorite book — the one she said she lost years ago.

A hoodie in the exact oversized fit she steals from him.

A small silver necklace with a tiny charm shaped like a star — because once at 2am she told him she liked stars more than hearts.

Her chest tightened. There was a letter. No name. Her hands shook as she unfolded it.

You once told me that if someone ever loved you, you’d want it to feel quiet and certain. Not loud. Not showy. Just steady.

I don’t know when I started loving you.

Maybe it was the first time you stayed up with me when I couldn’t sleep.

Or the way you always pretend you’re fine even when you’re not, and let me sit next to you anyway.

I think I’ve been trying to convince myself that being your best friend was enough.

But it isn’t.

I don’t want to be the person you call when someone else hurts you.

I want to be the person who never does.

You deserve someone who doesn’t hesitate.

I’m done hesitating.

Also, you still owe me a rematch because you absolutely cheated at Mario Kart in Toronto.

Her breath caught. The Toronto joke. Only him. Only them.

A knock sounded at the door. Soft. Hesitant. She opened it.

Walker stood there. No smirk. No teasing. Just nervous, hands fidgeting slightly.