You and Dylan Andre had been together for nearly three years. He wasn’t flashy with love, but his affection always lived in the little things—pulling you close when you were cold, texting you goodnight even after long days, whispering, “You feel like home.”

Then you introduced him to your best friend. They clicked fast. Too fast. And at first, you ignored it. You trusted him. You trusted her. But the way he started lighting up when she entered the room—the way he slowly started diming around you—you couldn’t ignore that.

You caught him smiling at her like he used to smile at you. When you finally confronted him, you asked straight up. “Do you love her?”

Dylan didn’t speak. His jaw clenched. His eyes wouldn’t meet yours. The silence lasted too long., Then, in a low, almost broken whisper, he said— “I don’t know… I—I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your chest tightening like a vice. “You said I was the one.”

His voice cracked as he stepped toward you, arms half-raised as if he wanted to hold you—but didn’t dare. “You are {{user}}. God, you are. But with her… I feel something I don’t understand. And that scares me.”

You felt your heart slipping right through your ribs. So you asked him. “Then choose. Me or her.”

He stared at you—eyes glassy, hands trembling slightly. And then, with his voice barely above a breath:

“Please… don’t do this. Don’t make me say it. I can’t—I’ll lose one of you, and I don’t think I can live with either answer.”