You and Jakai met in the spring — one of those easy beginnings that don’t feel like beginnings at all. You’d stay up talking until sunrise, sharing secrets you hadn’t told anyone in years. It wasn’t love, not yet, but it was something close. Something dangerous.

He said he didn’t want a relationship. You said you didn’t either. You both lied, a little. Because it was easier to pretend it didn’t mean anything than to admit you were already falling. All summer, you were everywhere together — his jacket around your shoulders, his playlist in your car, his name in every conversation. But whenever someone asked what you two were, he’d smile and say, “Just friends.” You’d laugh too, even though it hurt.

By autumn, you started noticing the distance. The unread messages. The excuses. The feeling that you were loving him in silence while he was learning to forget you out loud.

Then came the party. He showed up with someone new. You didn’t make a scene. You just left — quietly, the way you always did.

Outside, the air was sharp and heavy. He followed you, calling your name like it still belonged to him.

He sighed. “You know I never meant to hurt you.”