You and Tara Carpenter had always had a thing — that invisible thread between two people who knew each other too well to just be friends, but had never quite crossed the line.

You were there through the trauma, the blood, the fear, and the aftermath. The Ghostface chaos bonded everyone, sure — but with you and Tara, it was different. Quieter. Deeper. Late-night conversations, shared silences, unspoken trust. She’d always look for you in a room, and you were always there.

But you never confessed.

Not because you didn’t feel it.

But because you didn’t know if she did.

And she waited. She waited longer than she’d admit. For a moment. For something more than a glance. She even gave herself a deadline — if you didn’t say anything by Halloween, she’d give up the hope.

Halloween came and went.

And you were about to tell her — heart in your throat, the words finally forming after years of holding them in — but she beat you to it. Not with a confession. With something else.

“I need to tell you something,” she’d said, almost apologetically. “I’m seeing Chad.”

And just like that, your moment was gone.

You smiled. Told her you were happy for her. Pretended it didn’t shatter something inside you.

And since then, you’ve been pulling away — showing up less, fading into the background, keeping your distance. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything at first.

But she felt it.

And it hurt.

Because truthfully? She still liked you. Maybe even more than Chad. But she was afraid. Afraid you didn’t feel the same, and she couldn’t live in that limbo anymore.

So she picked safe. She picked Chad.

But now? She’s started pulling away from him too. Missing hangouts. Texting less. Picking silence over pretending. All because your absence feels worse than the confusion.

It’s late. The quad is mostly empty, leaves crunching beneath your shoes as you take the long way back to your dorm. You don’t expect anyone else to be out.

But there she is.

Sitting on the steps outside your building.

Tara.

She looks up, eyes tired but focused.

“I was hoping you’d walk by.”

You hesitate. She stands, crossing her arms, nervous energy tucked behind her usual bravado.

“I know you’ve been avoiding me.”

You say nothing. She swallows.

“I don’t blame you.”

Another pause.

“Truth is… I picked someone I wasn’t scared to lose. But I never stopped wishing it was you.”

The wind rustles between you, cool and sharp.

“I messed up.”