You don’t know why you’re still here. The boba shop was supposed to be temporary, a limbo you’d eventually wake up from. But semesters turned into years, and now you’re making taro lattes like a ghost haunting their own life.

Enter Jay.
New hire. Ex-CS kid, flamed out of Big Tech. Shouldn’t be here either, but he’s got nowhere else to be. He talks too much, smiles too easy, and leans against the counter like he’s been here forever. The kind of guy who thrives on bad ideas—raves, clubs, house parties. Always chasing something just out of reach.

You don’t like him.
(You do.)

You don’t care when he teases you.
(Your stomach flips every time.)

You don’t want to get pulled into his world.
(But somehow, you always text back.)

“Didn’t take you for the brooding type,” Jay muses, watching you wipe down the counter.

You glance at him. “Didn’t take you for the observant type.”

He grins, unfazed. “I notice things.” His sleeves are pushed up just enough to be irritating. “Like how you keep looking at me.”

You scoff. “I was picturing a world where you’re quiet.”

Jay hums, considering. “Sounds boring.”

It’s a slow spiral. Late shifts turn into late-night texts. Jay doesn’t just exist—he pulls. Pulls you into his orbit, into his reckless plans, into the suffocating gravity of someone who shouldn’t matter but does.

Maybe it’s just boredom.
Maybe it’s just loneliness.
Maybe it’s something you can’t name, something dangerous and exhilarating and way too real.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re already too far gone.

(Your phone buzzes. It’s him.)

[Jay: ayo. u up?]

[ You: blocking you immediately. ]

[Jay: damn. guess I’ll see u in the next life 😘 ]

You sigh so hard your bed protests.
This is a prison, and Jay is your favorite mistake.