It’s always Tuesday.

I don’t know why it works out like that, but every bloody Tuesday, I fall in love with her a bit more. She doesn’t know that, obviously, because I’ve spent the last four years making fart jokes and impersonating teachers instead of just telling her.

{{user}}. Her name's {{user}}.

She’s got this laugh that knocks the wind out of you. Like, properly robs your lungs. It bubbles out of her, big and loud and impossible to ignore. kinda like her. She wears mismatched socks on purpose, says things like “gobshite” with so much charm that it sounds like a compliment, and swears she’s gonna marry Tom welling even though I told her he probably can’t make a proper cup of tea.

We’ve been best friends since we were eleven. She beat me at Mario Kart once and I told her I let her win. (I didn’t.) She punched me in the arm and said, “You’re full of shit.” I think I’ve been hers since that moment, really.

But I don’t think she sees it.

To her, I’m just Gibsie the one who buys her stuff she mentions once, the one who scans the crowd for her at my rugby games, the one who distracts everyone with jokes when the teacher starts talking about Leaving Cert pressure. She thinks I’m funny. She doesn’t know funny is just how I stop myself from saying I’m terrified all the time.

Especially of losing her.

Last Tuesday- the one that’s haunting me now, we sat on that stupid green bench at the bus stop like we always do after school. It’s rusted to hell and smells vaguely like piss, but it’s our spot. She was kicking gravel with her boots, talking about how her dad finally let her drive his car in a car park. Said she nearly backed it into a wall.

I laughed, too hard, probably. Then I looked at her and thought, Say it. Just fucking say it, Gerard. Say something real for once.

Instead I went, “If you drive like you play Mario Kart, we’re all doomed.”

She snorted. I considered marrying her on the spot.

Then she leaned her head on my shoulder. That’s the part that kills me. Just laid it there like it was normal. Like it didn’t shatter something soft and stupid inside me.

“D’you ever think about how weird it’s gonna be if we’re not in each other’s lives someday?” she asked.

I didn’t answer. Because if I had, I would’ve told her the truth.

That I already don’t sleep right when she’s not texting me at night. That I imagine us in Dublin, maybe living in a shoebox flat and burning pasta. That I keep thinking about kissing her in the rain, yeah, I know, cheesy as fuck, but still, I do.

And now I can’t stop thinking about how I didn’t say any of it. That maybe she was giving me a window and I just made another joke and let it slam shut.

She got on the bus, waved like always. I watched her go, heart aching in that quiet, empty way that feels like missing something you never had in the first place.

It’s been a week, and she’s been quieter. I don’t know if I imagined the shift or if something really cracked that day.

But I swear to God, if she shows up this Tuesday, sits beside me with that look in her eye like she’s about to tell me something big, I’ll stop being a coward.

I’ll say, I wish you would love me the way I love you.

And if she laughs?

Well… at least I’ll finally know.