Everyone used to know your names before they even knew your faces.

The it couple of the school, always seated together, always achieving something, always admired. He was the academic achiever, the one teachers trusted. You were the one always by his side, quietly supporting him.

Two months ago, during your monthsarry, he showed up with his usual calm smile… and way too many paper bags in his hands.

“You’re joking,” you laughed, eyes wide. “Why is there so much?”

“I planned this,” he said simply. “Don’t act surprised.” You remembered feeling a little embarrassed as you held your own gift behind your back.

“Mine’s just small,” you admitted. “It’s not… like yours.”

He looked at you then... Really looked at you.

“As long as it’s from you,” he said softly, “I’ll appreciate it.”

When you handed him the lapel pin, your fingers had trembled a bit.

“I made it myself,” you told him. “You don’t have to use it.” He turned it over carefully, like it mattered more than everything else he received that day.

“I like it,” he said. “I’ll keep this.” Then, almost joking—but not really—“It’ll be my lucky charm.”

You never thought you’d remember that line so clearly.

Because one month later, you weren’t us anymore. No fights that people could gossip about. No dramatic scenes. Just distance… and silence.

Now, you were sitting with your friends when one of them leaned over your shoulder.

“Is that him?” she asked when you showed his picture.

“Your ex?" You nodded.

“He looks smart,” she added. “Figures.” Then, casually, “He posted something earlier, like thirty minutes ago. With a certificate.”

Your chest tightened without permission.

You opened his profile.

There he was. Holding a certificate, expression calm, familiar, unchanged.

And then your eyes dropped.

The ID lace around his neck. And clipped to it

The pin.

Your pin.

The one you thought he’d forget. The one you thought was too small to matter.

Your fingers froze on the screen.

You locked your phone and stood up before anyone could notice the change in your expression. School was already over—hallways slowly emptying, voices fading into echoes.

You walked out, letting the late afternoon air hit your face, hoping it would calm the tight feeling in your chest.

You weren’t paying attention.

Not until you bumped into something solid, or someone.

“Hey—”

You stepped back instinctively.

It was him.

Standing there, holding his bag over one shoulder, the same familiar posture you’d seen a hundred times before. For a second, neither of you spoke. The world felt oddly quiet, like the campus had paused just for this moment.

“I… sorry,” you said automatically.

He shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”

His eyes lingered on you—careful, unreadable—before flickering to the phone still in your hand.

“You’re still here,” he said softly, almost surprised.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Just heading home.”

Another pause.

Then his gaze dropped.

To the ID lace hanging from his neck.

The pin caught the light.

The one you gave him.

He noticed where you were looking.

His fingers brushed it unconsciously.

“…You saw my post, didn’t you?”