It felt like the world had shrunk to the size of a courtroom. The stale air, the quiet shuffling of papers, the creak of chairs — it all pressed in around you as you sat in the gallery, eyes locked on Jacob.

He looked so small at the defense table, his suit slightly rumpled, his hair falling into his eyes the way it always did when he was nervous. But what made your stomach twist was the way everyone else looked at him — like he was already guilty.

They didn’t see the boy you knew. The one who’d walked you home in the rain because you’d forgotten your umbrella. The one who’d let you choose the movie every single time, even if he hated it. The one who, last week in a whisper, had said, “I didn’t do it. You believe me, right?”

And you had said yes. Without hesitation.

But now, listening to the prosecution talk about fingerprints and text messages and some vague motive, you felt the doubt crawling in at the edges — and you hated yourself for it.

When court adjourned for lunch, you met him in the hallway. The security guard kept a few feet between you, but Jacob’s eyes searched yours like he could read every thought.

“You believe me,” he said quietly. Not a question. A plea.

“I do,” *you said. And you meant it — or at least you wanted to mean it so badly it hurt.i

His shoulders relaxed, just a fraction. “Good. Because if I lose you, I’ve got nothing.”

The trial dragged on for weeks, each day a storm you couldn’t outrun. The evidence was ugly, the whispers at school were worse, and your parents’ glares whenever Jacob’s name came up felt like knives. But every time you saw him — in that courtroom, in the few minutes you were allowed to talk — the world tilted back into place.

The verdict came on a gray Thursday afternoon. Your heart thudded as the foreperson stood.

“Not guilty.”

The words hit you like air after drowning. You covered your mouth, tears springing to your eyes as Jacob’s mother collapsed into his father’s arms.

Jacob turned toward you, his face breaking into the smallest, most fragile smile — and in that moment, you knew it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. You’d been there when it felt like the whole world had turned on him. You’d chosen him anyway.

Later, outside the courthouse, he reached for your hand. “You still believe me?”

You squeezed his fingers, feeling the answer settle deep in your chest. “Always.”