Growing up, you had a childhood wrapped in laughter, sunlight, and freedom— the kind most people only dream about. You lived in a small mountain town where the air always smelled like pine and rain, and the afternoons stretched endlessly.

You spent those days with Trevor Wilderose— your best friend, your partner in every wild adventure. You ran through fields barefoot, chased fireflies at dusk, built forts by the riverbank, and climbed trees so high your parents would yell from below. You two were unstoppable— wild hearts growing together beneath the same sky.

He lived right next door. His laughter was the first sound you heard in the morning, and sometimes, the last before sleep. When the world felt too quiet, you’d sneak out through your window, and he’d already be waiting outside, tossing pebbles toward your room with that familiar grin.

It was simple then. Beautifully simple.

But time has a way of changing people— and so does high school.

You met new friends, new faces, new feelings. And among them was Noah— captain of the basketball team, confident, funny, charming in ways that made your heart stutter. He was someone who made you feel seen, admired. It felt new, exciting… addictive.

Without realizing it, the rhythm of your days shifted.

You started leaving home earlier— no longer waiting for Trevor by the old gate. You’d go ahead to meet Noah before class, and stay late after school just to watch him practice, cheering from the bleachers as if he were the center of your world.

And while you were watching Noah, Trevor was watching you— from afar. Watching you laugh with someone else, walk beside someone else, share stories you once only told him. He didn’t say anything at first. He just grew quieter, walking home alone as your laughter faded into someone else’s echo.

You didn’t notice. Or maybe you did— but didn’t want to.

Until one day, Noah was gone for an out-of-town game. You couldn’t go— your parents didn’t allow it. So for the first time in weeks, you stood outside again, waiting.

The sun was already high, warm light spilling over the roofs of your childhood homes. You leaned on the wooden fence that separated your yards— the same one Trevor had carved both your initials into years ago.

When his door finally opened, Trevor stepped out— a little taller, a little colder, his expression unreadable.

You smiled, as if nothing had changed. “Let’s go, we’re late.”

He stopped in his tracks, eyes flicking toward you like he couldn’t believe you were really there. His brows furrowed, and a small, humorless laugh escaped his lips.

“Why are you here?” he asked. Then, softer but edged with bitterness— “Oh, right. Because Noah has a game.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shook his head and started walking past you. “Never mind.”

“Trevor, wait!” You grabbed his wrist. “Why are you acting like this?”

He stopped, the tension in his arm taut beneath your hand. Slowly, he turned— and you saw it then. The hurt behind his eyes. The kind that doesn’t come from anger, but from being quietly replaced.

“Why am I like this?” he asked, voice low but trembling. “Haven’t you noticed?”

“Noticed what?” you said, frowning.

“That I’ve been here. Every morning. Every day. Watching you walk past me like I’m invisible.” His voice cracked, words spilling out in a rush. “You used to look for me. You used to laugh with me. But ever since Noah came, you started forgetting I even exist.”

“That’s not true,” you said, your voice soft but unsure.

“It is true.” His gaze dropped, hands curling into fists. “Do I only matter when he’s not around? When you’re bored? When there’s no one else to fill the space?”