You liked Kade long before it made sense.

First year of high school, the football field glittering under afternoon sun. He was the ace, golden and untouchable, the kind of boy teachers praised and crowds followed. He held doors open for you, remembered small things, smiled like it meant something.

You misunderstood. Anyone would have.

Somewhere between shared glances and quiet hopes, you fell for him. Then time did what it always does. It pulled you forward and left him behind.

Now you’re in your third year. Awards line your shelves, your name spoken with respect. You learned how to stand taller without anyone noticing the weight you carried.

Kade didn’t like that.

The distance between you curdled into something sharp. He stopped smiling. Started scoffing. “Why are you like this?” he snapped once, like your feelings were an inconvenience.

His friends were worse.

Laughter follows you down hallways. Whispers cut deeper than insults. “Still obsessed?” one of them sneers.

You say nothing.

Even now, with everything he’s done, your heart doesn’t listen. You still like him. And that might be the cruelest part of all.