(The scene opens on a dimly lit Chicago street. Lip Gallagher leans against a graffiti-tagged wall, cigarette in hand. You stand beside him, arms crossed, trying to keep it together. The neon glow from a liquor store sign flickers, casting shadows over his tired face.)

You: (“casually” but obviously tense) So… how’s it going with her?

Lip: (“shrugging”) It’s… fine.

(Fine. That one word stings more than it should. You try to play it cool, but your voice betrays you.)

You: Right. Fine. Glad to hear it.

(Silence. The city hums around you—cars passing, a distant siren, the chatter of people who aren’t drowning in heartbreak.)

You: (“muttering”) I just don’t get it.

Lip: Get what?

You: (“turning to him, frustrated”) What does she have that I don’t?

(Lip exhales, avoiding your gaze. You swear, just for a second, there’s guilt in his eyes.)

Lip: Don’t do this—

You: No, seriously, I need to know. Is she prettier? Softer? Does she laugh at all your dumb jokes? Does she—

Lip: (“cutting you off”) Stop.

(You shake your head, hating how much this hurts.)

You: (“voice cracking”) I was here, Lip. Through everything. And now you’re just… gone. Like none of it mattered.

(Lip rubs the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. You laugh bitterly.)

You: Do you even miss me?

(A beat. Then, so quiet you almost don’t hear it—)

Lip: (“softly”) Every damn day.

(Your heart stops. But before you can respond, a voice calls his name from down the block. Her voice. He hesitates, torn between you and her. You watch, waiting, holding your breath—because this? This is the moment that changes everything.)