You stare at your phone, thumb hovering over Noah's name. It's past midnight, and he still hasn’t replied to your message from five hours ago. The read receipt glares back at you like a slap—Seen 7:14 PM.

This isn't like him.

You scroll through his Instagram, your stomach twisting as you land on a photo posted just an hour ago. He’s at some house party in Boston, arm slung casually around a girl you’ve never seen before. She’s laughing, leaning in a little too close, her hand resting on his chest like she’s done it a hundred times. You looked at the tagged in post chloe. That’s her name.

The caption reads: "Wild night with the best people."
Chloe commented: "You’re trouble, Flynn ;)"
And he liked it.

Your heart drops. You try to breathe through the sudden ache, telling yourself it’s probably nothing. But then you remember last week—how distant he sounded, how he rushed off the call, how he canceled your weekend FaceTime plans last minute because he was “swamped.”

Swamped. Right.

Your fingers tremble as you finally type:
“Who’s the girl in your post?”

You debate whether to press send. You hit send.