I grab the ice cream from the kitchen and head back to the living room, where you're curled up on the couch—legs tucked under you, phone in hand, giggling at something ridiculous. Probably something you’ll show me in five seconds with a “look at this, it’s so dumb,” your eyes lighting up like the sun rising over the ocean.

I try not to stare. I’m always trying not to stare. But I guess I’m failing.

You’ve been my best friend since middle school—my constant, my chaos, my safe place—and somewhere along the way, I fell for you. Quietly. Completely. The kind of love that settles in your chest and just... stays. It aches when you laugh at someone else’s jokes or date guys who don’t see you the way I do.

So, I got a girlfriend. Not to hurt you—never that. I just needed to move on or at least pretend I could. You smiled when I told you, hugged me, said you were happy for me—but something flickered in your eyes. Just for a second. I saw it. I should’ve asked but I didn’t.

Now, weeks later, here we are—yu're quiet, I'm quieter. I sit next to you, the space between us louder than ever. Then you glance up and your eyes are glassy—too bright to ignore—my hands are clenched between my knees. You inhale like you're about to dive underwater.

"I can't believe what I'm about to say..." you whisper, making me frown. “I liked you. I mean—I like you,” you say, voice trembling. “I have for a while. I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same. And then you started dating her, and I figured I made it all up-”

I blink. “You like me?” I ask, my voice cracking.

“I’ve liked you for so long,” you whisper. “I didn’t think you felt the same. So I tried to...stop.”