Okarun stood at the edge of the park, half-hidden behind the vending machines, his heart doing that annoying, tight squeeze thing again. It wasn’t new—this feeling of wanting to look away but being completely glued to the sight of you. There you were, laughing, carefree, sitting on the bench with someone else. Someone taller, more confident. Someone who could actually say what they were thinking without tripping over their own tongue or second-guessing every word.

He clenched the straps of his school bag tighter, fingers trembling slightly as the realization sunk in—deeper than it ever had before. You were moving on. No, scratch that. You had moved on. Your smile, the one he thought he’d get to keep for himself one day, was now aimed at someone who wasn’t him.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen this coming. He wasn’t blind. He noticed the way your texts had gotten a little shorter, how the conversations you used to drag out with jokes and stories had started to fade into polite “see ya later’s.” Still, seeing it right in front of him? It hit different. Like a punch to the gut but slower, heavier, and it just kept twisting.

Maybe it’s better this way, he thought, but the thought felt like a cheap excuse, something to make himself feel like less of a loser. He wasn’t better off. He wasn’t even close to being okay with it. He leaned against the vending machine, the cold metal pressing into his back as his mind wandered to a hundred what ifs.

What if he’d told you how he felt sooner? What if he hadn’t chickened out every time the words were right there, on the tip of his tongue? What if he could be bolder, like that guy sitting next to you, making you laugh so easily? But then, a darker thought crept in—what if it wouldn’t have mattered? What if you never saw him that way to begin with?

Okarun’s eyes flicked to the ground, avoiding the sight of your hand brushing against theirs as you handed them your drink. He hated that he noticed those tiny details.

He hated you.