MASSACHUSETTS, Sunday.

It had been four months since Remi and {{user}} broke up. Everyone in the neighborhood still whispers about them — the two intense girls who couldn’t stay away from each other, but also couldn’t stay together. It wasn’t cheating, it wasn’t lies. It was emotions too big for two girls still learning how to breathe. They still see each other around. Of course they do. They live across the hall. And Valeria, Remi’s twin sister, is {{user}}’s best friend.

It had been weeks since they last spoke properly. {{user}} had been at the Aguilar house, spending time with Valeria, like she always did when she needed to escape her own. They were coming down the stairs together, half-laughing, half-pretending nothing was wrong, when Remi appeared at the bottom — hoodie on, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“Valeria, mom asked me to come get you,”

she said, but her eyes weren’t on her sister — they were locked on {{user}}. The air shifted. Valeria looked at them both and instantly knew. She took a breath, stepped back.

“I’ll wait in the car.”

Now it was just them. Remi didn’t move. She just stared.

“You look like you’ve been crying again. Let me guess. She hurt you. And you ran here. You always do.”