It started with a text.

You hadn’t meant for him to see it, but somehow Nate got a hold of the message you’d sent to a friend—one joking about him behind his back. The words were lighthearted, harmless to anyone else, but Nate didn’t see the humor.

The next day, he avoided you in the hallways, his usual easy smile replaced with a tight-lipped frown.

“Hey,” you said when you finally caught him by the lockers. “Can we talk?”

He crossed his arms, glaring. “Do we have to?”

“Yes, because I think you’re misunderstanding something.”

He shook his head. “No, I get it. You don’t like me. Got it. I should’ve known.”

Your heart sank. “Nate, it’s not like that! I wasn’t saying I don’t like you. I—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he interrupted, turning to walk away. “I don’t need fake friends.”

You watched him go, frustration and hurt twisting together. You’d been friends for months, sharing secrets, late-night study sessions, even moments when you both leaned on each other during rough family situations—and now, all of that felt like it was slipping away over a silly text.

Determined to fix it, you waited for him after school.

“Nate,” you called as he passed the front gates. He stopped but didn’t turn. “Please, just listen.”

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Make it quick. I have practice.”