You and your best friend stood on the corner, phones out, turning in slow circles while the map kept rerouting.

Behind you, the boys walked a few steps back—her boyfriend and your childhood friend. The one you’d loved quietly for years. The one you knitted a scarf for, made playlists for, woke up early to bake for. The one you rearranged your life around.

You heard his friend ask if you were dating. His answer came easily: no. He didn’t think you liked him like that. It took his friend pointing out the obvious for silence to fall.

You finally found the street name and turned but his hand closed around your wrist before you could say anything. He pulled you away from the crowd, down a narrow side street, not stopping until the city noise faded. Brick walls boxed you in. His hand braced beside your head, the other still holding you.

“Explain something to me,” he said quietly. “The scarf. The playlists. The books. The lunches. Waiting for me every time. Tell me, what does it mean when you do that for me?”