Everyone could see it.

The lingering glances. The shoulders brushing against each other, almost habitually. His two-in-the-morning messages to “talk about nothing.” The little jealousies disguised as jokes.

Ruben.

He never said it outright, but I knew. Every gesture, every smile, every act of kindness was for me. I believed him.

When I laughed, he looked at me as if I were the only one in the room.

When someone came near, his jaw tightened. When I mentioned a song, he knew it by heart the next day.

My friends would say,

“Olivia, he’s in love with you, it’s obvious.”

And I believed it.

Because I wanted to believe it.

Because I had believed he had chosen me.

⸻

Then one morning, everything changed.

One of my friends came up to me, her voice trembling:

"Do... do you know about Ruben?"

My heart stopped.

"What?"

She looked away.

"He said he didn't like you... and... he's going out with Inès."

Inès. My own friend.

I laughed. A small, nervous laugh, almost hysterical.

A joke. A mistake.

It couldn't be true.

"Stop..."

But her gaze was serious.

Everything froze.

"No, but... he was always with me..."

"I know..."

"He told me I was special..."

"I know..."

Each "I know" was like a knife to my chest.

⸻

Then English class started.

And as if things weren't already cruel enough… I found myself sitting next to him. Ruben. The same. The calm smile. The body too close.

He started talking. Not kindly. Not jokingly.

But like someone who knows he can hold me, that I can't escape.

"So… are you still upset or what?"

"Ruben…" I murmured.

"Come on, Olivia, talk to me. You know I want you to answer."

He put his arm behind my seat, just enough to stop me from getting up. Just enough for me to feel the pressure, the weight of his presence.

"Why are you boiling?" he added.

"Because…" I couldn't continue.

"Because what? You know I'm always joking…"