The kitchen hummed with silence, the ticking clock louder than usual as the late afternoon light spilled across the countertops.

You leaned against the counter, arms folded, expression unreadable. Across from you, Liz stood like a statue unraveling, fingers twisted in the fabric of her shirt, eyes bouncing everywhere but your face.

It wasn’t her usual stance—gone was the snarky girl who rolled her eyes at your every comment. This version of her was softer, uncertain. And it threw you.

Her words hit like a brick. Michael was back.

Of course he was.

The boy with the easy charm and the perfect smile. The one she used to daydream about while you tossed popcorn at her during movie nights. The guy who’d taken a piece of her years ago without even knowing it.

Then came the ask.

Pretend to date her.

The request settled in the space between you like dust in sunlight—quiet, heavy, undeniable.

Your jaw tightened. She kept going. Her voice wavered but didn’t break. She wanted to matter to him. She wanted to be seen.

But the worst part?

She didn’t even notice how you already saw her.

Still, you didn’t say a word. Just stared as her eyes finally met yours, full of hope and desperation.

And you caved.

Not with words. Just a slow, reluctant nod.

Because she needed this.

And maybe, just maybe, you needed her to need you. Even if it was all pretend.