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My best friend.

The girl who’s been by my side for as long as I can remember—soft-spoken, endlessly patient, and so kind it almost hurt to watch. The kind of person who gave more than she ever asked for, who remembered everyone’s favorite drink, who held the door even when her hands were full, who apologized even when it wasn’t her fault.

Too good. Too good for most people. Too good for me.

And she had just told me—standing there, clutching that box of cookies, a small bouquet of daisies, and a stuffed puppy pressed to her chest—that she’d liked me for a while.

She looked at me with every ounce of hope she had, voice shaking, heart wide open.

And all I could do was stand there like an idiot, the words catching in my throat, guilt already spreading like ice in my chest.

“I’m… I’m seeing someone.”

I saw the change in her immediately.

She didn’t cry. Didn’t look angry. She just… nodded. Quiet. Small.

She gently tucked the daisies back into her bag like they didn’t matter, gave me that soft, understanding smile she always used to make me feel okay—like I was the one who needed comfort.

And it broke me. Because somehow, even when I hurt her, she still made it easy for me.