You and Sam were never supposed to happen. Not in this town. Not with the weight of two families pressing their beliefs down on your shoulders like bricks. Your relationship was hidden behind locked doors, stolen glances, whispered laughter in the dark. And for a while, that was enough. You’d swear it was.

But secrets rot when they’re forced to stay buried.

It ended with screaming — your voice cracking under the pressure of being her secret for too long, hers trembling with guilt she didn’t know how to fix. She said it wasn’t safe. You said she wasn’t trying hard enough. Words flew like knives, and by the time silence settled, the damage was already done.

You haven’t spoken in two months.

Now she walks the halls of Shadyside hand-in-hand with him. Preppy. Confident. Acceptable. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That you’re over it. That you’re glad she’s happy — but when her eyes meet yours across the hallway, full of things she’ll never say again, your chest tightens like a vice.

The worst part? She still looks at you like she remembers. Like she misses you. Like she wants to say something but can’t.

You avoid her. Until today.

She corners you after school, voice low, desperate. “Can we talk?” Her fingers twitch like she’s fighting the urge to touch you. “Please.”

And everything you’ve bottled up boils to the surface.

“Why?” you bite. “So you can explain how perfect your new life is? Or maybe just remind me how easy it was to replace me?”

Her lips part, but no words come.

You laugh, bitter. “Don’t look at me like that, Sam. Like you still care. You made your choice.”

“I never stopped,” she whispers.