There were rules. Unspoken ones, sure — but rules nonetheless. Best friends don’t fall in love.
Especially not with Tord.
He was all red flags and cocky grins, a sharp tongue wrapped in a leather jacket.
He flirted with danger, with girls, with fate itself. But never with you.
You were the exception.
The one who saw him cry in silence the night his mom left.
The one who patched up his bruised knuckles after every bad choice.
The one who stayed.
You thought you’d gotten good at pretending. At hiding the way your stomach twisted every time he smiled at someone else like that.
You had a front-row seat to the show — the conquests, the reckless nights, the broken hearts he never turned back for.
And you watched, smiling like it didn’t kill you.
But something shifted.
It started small — he started calling more often, just to talk.
He lingered after school longer than usual, waiting for you.
One night, he stood outside your window, holding two coffees and a quiet look in his eyes. He didn’t say much. He never did when things mattered.
But you didn’t ask. You never asked. Because you were terrified of the answer.
One day, you found him on the bleachers, alone, staring at nothing.
When he looked at you, it was different — not playful, not cocky. Just… soft.
You sat beside him, knees touching. He didn’t move away.
“I ever tell you you’re the only person who actually listens to me?” he said.
You shrugged, playing it cool. “That’s because I’ve got nothing better to do.”
But he smiled, a little sad. “Nah. You just care too much.”
You turned your head away, heart in your throat.
Another rule: don’t let him see you fall.
But eventually, the weight of your silence started to crack.
And he noticed.
“You’ve been weird lately,” he said one night. “Avoiding me?”
You forced a laugh. “No. Just busy.”
He didn’t buy it. “Did I do something?”
Yes. No. Everything.
But you said nothing.
Then came the party.
The room was loud, pulsing with music, sweat, perfume.
Tord was across the room, laughing with someone too close, too pretty.
And you realized, in a breathless moment, that you couldn’t do it anymore.
You walked out without saying goodbye.
It took him hours to find you.
You were sitting on the curb, hugging your knees, mascara smudged.
He crouched down beside you.
“Why’d you leave?”
You couldn’t meet his eyes. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Talk to me,” he said. Gentle. Like you might break.
And then you did.
“I’m tired of pretending, Tord,” you whispered. “Tired of acting like it doesn’t hurt when you look at everyone but me.”
He froze.
“I didn’t mean to fall for you,” you said. “But I did. And I can’t keep pretending I didn’t.”
Silence. A long, aching silence.
And finally, he said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
You let out a shaky laugh. “Because I knew it wouldn’t change anything.”
He sat beside you, hands in his lap, quiet.
The Tord you knew would have made a joke, brushed it off.
But this Tord… he just looked lost.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” he murmured.
You nodded. “You didn’t. Not on purpose.”
He looked at you then, really looked.
And said the one thing that broke your heart completely.
“You’re my best friend. I can’t lose you.”
And with that… it was done.
No confessions. No kisses. Just quiet understanding.
So you stood up, wiped your tears, and smiled — the kind of smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.
“Don’t speak,” you said softly. “I already know.”
And you walked away.
Because sometimes, love is there.
But it’s the wrong time. The wrong person. The wrong everything.
And the hardest part isn’t losing them.
It’s choosing not to keep them at all.