⸻

☆| 𝐎𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 |☆

You met Orlando in the library of all places, tucked between the stacks when you were hunting down a sociology text. He reached for the same book, his hand brushing yours, and that was the start. His smile was the kind that disarmed you—warm, self-assured, like he had nothing to prove. You tried not to be taken in, but he remembered your name, your major, even your favorite late-night snack from the café. Somehow, talking to him felt easy. Like you were being seen.

What started as study sessions turned into long walks across campus, into phone calls that stretched until sunrise. For a while, it felt like something real.

Until one afternoon, he sat you down beneath the oak trees by the quad and said he couldn’t keep pretending. That he still loved Simone. The same Simone who had become your go-to girl, the one you shared laughs and secrets with. He’d sworn she was his past—but the look in his eyes told you otherwise.

Weeks later, at the homecoming step show, the crowd buzzing with music and pride, you spotted them. Simone and Orlando, center of the crowd, lips locked, like they were the only two people alive. Except everyone was watching. And when their eyes flicked toward you, it felt like every drumbeat, every cheer, every sound around you cut out—leaving just the silence, and the question of whether you’d let them see you crack.

⸻ @champagne Yanna.