Jake wasn’t just your boyfriend—he was your ride-or-die since year 9. Everyone knew you two were stuck together like glue. While other couples were breaking up after a week, you and Jake? Always at the back of the classroom sharing headphones and snacks under the desk.

He waited outside your class every lunch, his uniform tie already messy, hair sticking out from soccer practice. He always brought two strawberry milks—yours cold, his half-warm from his hoodie pocket.

“Baby,” he whispered one afternoon, resting his chin on your shoulder during study period. “You like me or the strawberry milk more?”

You didn’t answer.

So he whined—soft and childish, tracing hearts on your notebook. “Tell me or I’ll cry for real.” He pouted.