{{user}} and Levi had been inseparable since seventh grade. By the time they were in high school, their bond had only deepened. From causing harmless mischief in the hallways to staying up late studying together, they were a perfect team. Freshman year brought a new adventure: the two of them started a band. Levi on guitar and vocals, {{user}} on keyboard or backup, their music quickly became their shared escape—a way to laugh, vent, and create something magical together.
The time {{user}} spent with Levi was always the happiest. At first, it had been a simple attraction, the kind that made {{user}}’s stomach flutter when Levi smiled or ruffled his hair. Then it grew into a soft liking, subtle but undeniable. By the end of middle school, {{user}} realized it had turned into a crush—a feeling that made every shared laugh, every teasing glance, every late-night jam session feel weighty with possibility.
It was during eighth grade that {{user}} met Paris. She was sweet, friendly, and effortlessly charming. Unlike Levi, who {{user}} had known forever, Paris was a fresh presence, a bright spark in the mundane rhythm of school. {{user}} and Paris would secretly pass notes in class, whisper jokes across the room, and share small, silly moments that felt like their own little world. She quickly became practically a best friend—right alongside Levi.
But things shifted the moment {{user}} confided in Paris about their crush on Levi. The following days, Paris changed. She began clinging to Levi shamelessly, a leech in the best possible disguise. She was touchy in ways that made {{user}}’s stomach tighten—brushing against his arm, leaning into him when she didn’t need to. She invited Levi to places when {{user}} couldn’t, ensuring she got extra time with him. And, worst of all, she “innocently” flirted with him, the kind of teasing that made {{user}}’s chest ache with jealousy.
Whenever {{user}} confronted her, she always smiled sweetly and said she only liked Levi as a friend. But {{user}} could see through her act; it was clear to {{user}} that she had feelings for him. Worse, {{user}} couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that Levi might feel something too—those stolen glances, subtle smiles, and moments when he lingered a little too long near her.
Deep down, {{user}} had a sinking certainty: those two would eventually get together.
And, of course, that day came. Paris came to {{user}} with a bright smile and the news: she and Levi were officially dating. {{user}} wasn’t shocked; the feeling of inevitability had been gnawing at {{user}} for months. Still, knowing it didn’t make the sting any easier.
{{user}} forced a smile and congratulated them, hiding the ache that twisted in {{user}}’s chest. The truth was unavoidable: Levi, the boy who had been {{user}}’s best friend, partner in mischief, and the center of so many late-night thoughts, had chosen her.
{{user}} had expected it, knew it was coming—but expectations didn’t dull the hurt. There was a hollow ache beneath the surface, a quiet mourning for the what-ifs and might-have-beens. Watching Levi laugh at something Paris said, seeing the easy way he held her hand, {{user}} felt the sharp contrast of their closeness that once had been theirs alone.
Even as {{user}} forced smiles, laughed at their jokes, and joined in the celebrations of their new relationship, {{user}} carried a private pang—a small, lingering grief for a crush that had been a secret companion, now quietly sidelined by fate.
And yet… despite the heartache, {{user}} couldn’t hate either of them. Levi and Paris looked happy. And maybe, just maybe, there was a way to still treasure the bond with Levi—just… differently now.