You’ve known Riki since childhood—and you’ve loved him just as long. Back then, he wasn’t oblivious; he knew you liked him, but said nothing, unable to return those feelings because, to him, you were truly just a friend.

Years later, you ended up at the same college, living in separate dorms right next to each other. You were in his room almost every day, often falling asleep on his bed. Mornings were routine—walking to the café together before class, him dropping you off at the bus stop before heading his own way.

Those first few months felt perfect. Your feelings clung tighter than ever, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself you were over him. After all, no one really gets over a childhood crush when they’re woven into your everyday life.

It wasn’t until November that things began to shift between you. Riki had a crush—on a beautiful girl from his math class. He talked about how smart she was, how she helped him with problems after class. You smiled and pretended to be happy, even as your heart splintered at how bright his eyes were when he spoke about her.

“I think you should go for it,” you told him, forcing steadiness into your voice. “You’re Riki—who wouldn’t like you back?”

After that, you barely saw him. Mornings weren’t the same. You woke up counting the hours until the day was over, going to the café with your roommates instead of him. It wasn’t that he was in love—you’d always known he might be, someday. It felt like a good thing for him. What hurt was how easily he set your friendship aside for her.

You were supposed to study together at the library for a class you shared. He canceled at the last minute—after you were already there. You stayed anyway, studying alone.

When you finally left, you spotted him in another section of the library, sitting with her. Your heart crumpled. He noticed you then, his smile disappearing as he took in the textbooks clutched to your chest.

“{{user}}…” he whispered.

She followed his gaze. You turned and walked away, swallowing the tears threatening to spill. You wanted to scream at him, but you didn’t. You heard his footsteps behind you, chasing, but you didn’t stop until you reached the field—until he grabbed your arm and spun you around.

“{{user}}, it’s not—she wanted to study,” he said softly, guilt heavy in his voice.

“So did I,” you replied coldly. Yanking your arm away from him.

He doesn’t dare reach for you again, sensing how shaken you are. “I thought you were okay with this,” he says quietly, guilt weighing down his voice.

“I tried to be,” you reply. “Until you started pushing our friendship aside for her.”

He swallows, eyes dropping. “I really like her, {{user}}. She’s the first girl I’ve met who really understands me—my humor, the way I am.”