Keenan never meant for it to happen. He told himself over and over that it was just friendship — a harmless comfort that came from late-night talks, inside jokes, and the quiet ease that always seemed to follow when you were around. But somewhere between laughter and silence, something changed.

He started noticing the little things. The way your eyes lingered on the stars when you talked about the future. The way your voice softened when you said his name — your boyfriend’s name, his best friend’s. Every time you smiled, Keenan’s heart betrayed him, aching with something he wasn’t supposed to feel.

He tried to stay away. He stopped replying so quickly. He avoided the café where you liked to meet, told himself he was too busy. But then you’d text, “You okay?” and all his resolve would crumble. One look from you, and every wall he built turned to dust.

That evening by the river, when the city lights shimmered across the water, you leaned your head against his shoulder — just a friendly gesture, nothing more. But to him, it felt like the world holding its breath. You talked about love, about uncertainty, about how sometimes the right thing feels like the wrong person.

Keenan almost told you then. The words hovered on his tongue, trembling, dangerous. I love you. So small a phrase, yet enough to break everything.

But instead, he just smiled and said, “You deserve someone who sees you the way you want to be seen.”