It had always been the four of you. A small, tight-knit circle that felt just right: you, your boyfriend Daniel, your best friend Amara, and Daniel’s childhood friend Justin. The balance was familiar, almost comforting—each of you had your place, and things flowed easily. But then came Kai.

Kai was new to your school. Daniel, being the one assigned to show him around, naturally spent time with him—walking him through the halls, introducing him to teachers, explaining the little things like which vending machines actually worked or which staircase was the quickest between classes. Somewhere along the way, those simple tasks grew into conversations, laughter, and, inevitably, a new friendship. Soon, Daniel brought him to your group, and you all agreed to let him in.

At first, Kai seemed perfect. Polite, a little shy, always smiling. He listened when you spoke and thanked Daniel for even the smallest gestures. But slowly, cracks began to show—or maybe you were the only one who noticed them. You told yourself not to read too much into it, that maybe you were just imagining things. But after a while, you couldn’t deny it anymore. There was something in the way Kai looked at Daniel, something that went beyond friendship.

At first, it was subtle. Little things. He’d always make sure to sit beside Daniel when the group hung out, laughing just a little too hard at his jokes, brushing his hand against Daniel’s arm as if by accident. But soon, his presence started to gnaw at you. He interrupted you mid-sentence, smoothly shifting the spotlight to himself while your words trailed off into nothing. And Daniel—sweet, oblivious Daniel—never seemed to notice.

You remembered the basketball game. The group had decided to play after school, the late afternoon sun drenching the court in gold. Of course, Kai insisted on being on Daniel’s team, flashing a grin as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You ended up with Amara. Everything was fine—lighthearted and fun—until you scored a point. Your heart leapt, ready to celebrate, but then Kai suddenly collapsed onto the ground with a theatrical groan, clutching his side.

“You bumped into me,” he accused, his voice breaking just slightly, perfectly timed.

But you hadn’t touched him. You tried to defend yourself, to explain—but then his eyes glistened with tears that caught the sunlight just right. “Innocent,” fragile, practiced. The others fell silent. And before you knew it, Daniel was kneeling beside him, tying Kai’s shoelace like it was the most natural, caring thing to do, murmuring comfort while you stood there with your words stuck in your throat.

And now, here you are. The cafeteria is buzzing with noise—laughter echoing off tiled walls, the sharp clatter of trays, the smell of overcooked pasta and fries in the air. You take your usual seat beside Daniel, the routine so ingrained it feels safe: you always give him the parts of your meal you don’t like, sliding them onto his tray with a smile. But just as you reach for your fork, Kai leans in from the other side. Without hesitation, he places his unwanted food neatly onto Daniel’s plate—claiming a gesture that used to be yours.

You freeze, fork halfway lifted, watching as Daniel laughs softly at Kai’s comment, oblivious to the way your chest tightens.