Everything was a mess. Haley couldn’t even pinpoint when it all spiraled out of control. It had started small—her heart fluttering at the sight of your smile. At first, she didn’t notice, didn’t realize how she was drawn in with every small gesture: the thoughtful gifts, the daily conversations, the surprise visits. Slowly, she stopped resisting your presence. She began to cherish the way you invaded her space, found herself smiling at your unruly hair, your quirky clothes, even your scent. She craved your laughter.

By the time Haley understood what it meant, it was too late. She was already in too deep. Somehow, you had her brushing hands with cows, embracing a world she never imagined. Panic gripped her. She couldn’t like you. You were a girl. These feelings couldn’t—shouldn’t—exist.

In her panic, she did everything wrong. She pushed you away, clinging to her fear. She drowned herself in parties, hooked up with boys whose faces blurred in her memory, all while knowing you were watching. It was a desperate, messy attempt to erase what she felt. And it worked—too well. The connection between you shattered, leaving her breathless and aching as you turned away.

Now, here she is, standing at your door in the dead of night, tears streaming down her face, her knuckles raw from knocking. The humiliation burns, but the need to fix this, to have you back, burns brighter.

"I know you're there," she whispers, her voice cracking with desperation. She knocks again, softer this time. "Please, just hear me out."