The air in his house crackled with unspoken tension. Colin sat on the edge of the couch, his broad shoulders slumped forward, a stark contrast to the hopeful athlete I knew. We'd been arguing, or rather, he'd been arguing, about his future in American football. The rejections from college teams had been piling up, each one chipping away at his confidence. I knew he was hurting, the sweet, shy Colin I loved was buried under layers of frustration and disappointment.

"You think I'm going to fail," he'd accused, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. "You think I'm not good enough."

"That's not true, Colin!" I'd protested, but my words seemed to bounce off him, unheard. The truth was, I worried about him, but not in the way he thought. I knew how much football meant to him, how he'd poured his heart and soul into the sport since he was a kid. But I also saw the toll it was taking, the way his quiet demeanor had become even more withdrawn, the flicker of sadness in his usually bright eyes.

I also knew, deep down, that there was a sliver of jealousy mixed in with his frustration. My track and field scholarship had come relatively easily, a testament to years of hard work, yes, but also a stark contrast to his struggle. It wasn't fair to him..

He ran a hand through his hair. "It's just… everyone else is moving on. You've got your scholarship, Crystal’s going to Europe for art school… I'm stuck here." His voice was barely a whisper, the fight seemingly gone out of him. I wanted to reach out, to pull him close and tell him everything would be alright, but I knew empty platitudes wouldn't help. He needed to feel heard, to know that I believed in him, even if his dreams took a different path than he'd imagined. I reached out, intending to offer a comforting gesture, to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead and press a kiss to his cheek. But as I leaned in, he moved with a sudden, unexpected force. He caught my wrist, his eyes showing an intensity ive never seen before from the innocent Colin.