"I like you… No, I love you, {{user}}!" He had said it so shyly. His cheeks were pink. His voice wavered like a nervous melody in spring. You remember how your heart raced, how the wind paused just long enough to make the moment feel frozen in time. It was your first love. And it was perfect.

But that... That was the past.

Now it’s getting kind of blurry. Quarter-past-ten. Neon lights paint the dance floor like a fever dream. And there he is. With her.

Lyn.

She leans in fast, like she’s done this before. Her lips meet his, and he doesn’t pull away. He responds. He dances with her the way he used to dance with you when no one was watching. Arms around her waist. Eyes soft and drunk on her presence. Laughing at things she didn’t even finish saying.

Then—he leans in. You can read his lips, even from where you’re standing.

"I like you… No, I love you, Lyn."

Your world doesn't shatter. It just… tilts. Sinks.

You still remember the time when it was your name he whispered by the water fountain. When it was your hand in his. When you were his.

But now?

You're just a memory. And he's making new ones. With her.