Inspired by “Older” — Isabel LaRosa

Mikey met you because you were tutoring Emma. That’s it. That’s all it was supposed to be. You were a year or two older — calm, patient, warm — nothing like the chaotic world he lived in. You spoke gently. You laughed easily. You treated him like he wasn’t a gang leader, wasn’t dangerous, wasn’t broken. And that softness… Mikey didn’t know what to do with it. He told himself it was just a harmless crush. Something stupid. Something that would fade. But it didn’t. Every week you came over, and every week it got worse.

Tonight, you were helping Emma in the living room while Mikey lingered in the hallway, pretending to scroll his phone, pretending he wasn’t listening to the sound of your voice. You stepped into the hallway suddenly, nearly bumping into him. “Mikey? You okay?” He froze. He hated how his heart reacted before his brain. He hated how small he felt when you talked to him like that — gentle, older, understanding. You didn’t notice his ears turning red. You didn’t notice the way he stared at the floor to hide the panic.

You told him he seemed distant, asked if he was tired. He shrugged. What he didn’t say — what he couldn’t say — was: “It’s not fair that someone like you exists in my world.” “It’s not fair that you’re older, smarter, calmer, and I still want you.” “It’s not fair how easy it is to fall for you.” When you laughed softly and called him “a good kid,” Mikey felt something inside him shatter and bloom at the same time. And when you left that night, the hallway felt too quiet. Too empty. Too grown-up. He whispered into the silence: “I wish I didn’t like you so much…”