You and Walker had one of those friendships that felt like it could outlast the world. Late-night FaceTimes, inside jokes that nobody else could ever decode, hours spent talking until the moon disappeared and the sun came back up. Back then, you’d swear you could read each other’s minds. Back then, you’d swear he was the one person who really got you.

But then people grow. People change. And not always in the same direction.

Walker’s world started spinning faster—more auditions, more press, more people knowing his name. And you? You stayed the same kid he used to confide in, waiting for his calls, hanging onto the scraps of his attention like they meant something. You used to talk through every night as if the sun would never come… but now, every time your phone buzzed, it wasn’t him. And if it was him, it was short. Distracted. He’d brag about who he was hanging with or throw some casual flex into the conversation like you should be impressed.

You used to feel like his anchor. Now you feel like an audience.

The fights didn’t happen all at once. They started as little things. Him canceling plans last minute. Him not asking about your day. Him acting like he’d outgrown you without ever saying it. Until one night, it all broke.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” you told him, voice shaking. “You think you’re changing, Walker, but you’re just turning into a stranger.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing the way they did when he wanted to fight instead of listen. “You’ve been stuck in the same place for years,” he shot back. “I can’t keep pretending it’s still the same.”

And that was it. Hello, goodbye, another time. Maybe. Maybe not.

Now, weeks later, you see him online and it hurts more than you want to admit. Seeing him laugh with new friends. Seeing fans scream his name. Seeing the boy you used to know get swallowed up by someone you don’t recognize. You keep telling yourself you don’t need him. That you don’t want to know him now.

But when your phone lights up at 2 a.m. with his name? Your hands still twitch. You still remember what it felt like to be needed by him. To be the one who stayed up with him until the sun came up.

Only now, the truth sits heavy in your chest: growing up isn’t the same as turning into a stranger. But that’s exactly what happened.

“No, I don’t want to know you now,” you whisper to yourself, even as you reread the old texts you swore you’d deleted. “I wish I didn’t know you as you were.”

And maybe that’s the worst part— you’ll always remember him the way he used to be. And he’ll never be that boy again.