It all started as a joke.

Nate had been scrolling through his phone one lazy afternoon, sprawled across the couch in your shared NYU apartment. “Everyone has a podcast now,” he said, half-laughing. “We could totally do one.”

You looked up from your laptop. “About what? Your perfect hair routine?”

He smirked. “Funny. No, about… relationships. Dating. The whole messy, ridiculous Upper East Side thing. You and me — two perspectives, one mic.”

You snorted. “Yeah, because what the world needs is another Archibald giving love advice.”

But somehow, two days later, you were sitting across from him with a microphone between you, a stack of coffee cups, and a glowing “REC” light.

The first episode was awkward. You bickered, interrupted each other, and laughed too much. But people loved it.

By the third episode — “Can You Be Friends with Your Ex?” — your banter was flawless. Nate’s smooth charm balanced your wit perfectly. Listeners flooded the comments:

“They’re totally in love.” “You can hear the tension.” “If they don’t kiss by Episode 10, I’m rioting.”

You pretended not to care. Nate pretended not to notice.

But then came Episode 7: The One That Got Away.

You were supposed to talk about heartbreak. Instead, Nate got quiet. His voice softened, almost breaking through the easy banter.

“Sometimes,” he said, “you don’t realize how much someone means to you until they’re sitting across from you every day — teasing you, challenging you… reminding you what it feels like to actually care.”