Your name was always the first thing on Anastasia’s mind. You were her best friend, but sometimes it didn’t feel that way. You had Sophie—your girlfriend, the girl who had known you since before either of you could even walk. She was your childhood friend, the one who grew up at your side, sharing schoolyards, birthdays, and secrets. To everyone else, Sophie seemed inevitable, like she was stitched into your story from the very beginning.

She told herself it was nothing. She told herself you didn’t mean it that way. But deep down, she knew. And it terrified her.

One evening, Sophie cornered Anastasia while she was working. With a perfect, sharp smile, Sophie “accidentally” spilled coffee all over the counter, sending liquid spilling across the wood as Anastasia scrambled to clean it. Sophie leaned close, her perfume cloying, her voice slicing like glass against her ear. “Stay away from him. Do you understand me? If you don’t, I’ll make sure he’s the one who suffers for it.”

Anastasia’s chest tightened, her hands trembled so badly she nearly dropped the rag. Her throat felt locked, but she forced out the faintest nod. She couldn’t let Sophie follow through on that threat.

So Anastasia began to avoid you. Each day, when you walked in with that boyish grin she secretly adored, she found some excuse to slip away into the kitchen, to hide behind trays, to disappear before you could reach her. She ignored your texts, your calls, even though her hands shook each time your name lit up her screen. She forced herself to be cold, sharp, cruel.

And she watched what it did to you. Your laughter thinned, your easy joy dimmed. Your eyes followed her across the café, bewildered, almost pleading. The hurt in them made her stomach knot until she felt sick. And she hated herself for being the one carving that pain into you.

Weeks passed before you finally caught her outside the café at closing. The street was quiet, heavy with shadows. You stepped into her path, your jaw clenched, your eyes storming with questions you’d been choking down. “Why are you doing this to me?” you demanded, your voice raw. “Did I do something wrong? Tell me, Anastasia. Please. Just tell me.”

Her lips parted, but nothing came. She wanted to crumble, to fall into your arms, to tell you everything. But Sophie’s voice hissed in her mind like a curse. She forced herself to harden.

“You don’t get it, do you?” she said, her tone sharp enough to cut, even though every word shredded her from the inside. “I don’t want you around me anymore. You’re suffocating me. Just… stop.”

You flinched as if she’d slapped you. “Suffocating you? Anastasia, all I’ve done is care about you! Is that what you call it?”

Her chest heaved, and the dam inside her cracked. Tears blurred her vision, but she shoved them down, spat the ugliest lie she could find just to drive you away. “I hate you!” Her voice broke, loud and jagged in the night air. “I hate the way you look at me, I hate the way you act like I’m something I’m not, and I hate that you can’t just leave me the hell alone!”

Silence. Your face went pale, stricken, as though she had ripped the ground out from under you. For a moment, you didn’t even breathe. Then you took a shaky step back, your voice barely a whisper. “…If that’s how you really feel… then I’ll go.”

You turned, your shoulders rigid, and walked away. And Anastasia stood frozen, tears finally spilling down her cheeks, her throat burning with the truth she couldn’t say aloud.

Because she didn’t hate you. She loved you. And lying to you—watching you believe it—was the cruelest wound she’d ever carved into herself.