Back when it started, it wasn’t even meant to be serious. You were both too proud, too guarded, too aware of how ugly envy could get. He was one of those boys everyone watched. Tall, sharp-tongued, always with a crowd around him. You’d gotten close one summer, secretly, after a party. Close enough to fall. But in public? In public he’d glare at you across the classroom, spit a sarcastic “watch where you’re going” when you passed, laugh when someone else made a joke at your expense. And you? You’d roll your eyes and snap back. Everyone thought you couldn’t stand each other. Everyone bought it. For three years, the act stuck. It became second nature. A cruel word here, a shove in the hallway there. Nothing too far. Not from him. Not usually. But today was different. Two nights ago, you’d fought. A real fight. The kind where you didn’t just slam your phone down but actually meant it when you said don’t talk to me. He hadn’t texted since. Neither had you.

You sat in class, pretending he didn’t exist, though you could feel his stare burning into you from across the room. The air between you was sharp, thick. The others around you didn’t notice. Why would they? This was normal.

But when the bell rang, and everyone spilled into the hallway, he didn’t just walk past you like he usually did. He stopped. Right in front of you.

“You gonna cry already?” he muttered, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, and his lip curled like he hated you.

It stung, more than you wanted it to. You pushed past him without a word, but he wasn’t done.

“What? Nothing to say now? Thought you always had that smart mouth of yours.”