You’ve been best friends for years.
The kind where your names get said together like they’re one word.
You send her random texts at all hours. She picks up your calls without checking the screen. You know exactly which jokes make her laugh.
Her friends have noticed the dynamic for a while.
The way her mood changes when you text. The way she drops whatever she’s doing to answer you. The way she talks about you like you’re the most normal part of her life.
She’s always brushed it off.
“She’s just my best friend.”
But tonight?
Her friends are paying attention.
⸻
They’re all crowded around a big table at a bar.
Music loud, pool table clacking in the background, half-empty drinks scattered everywhere.
She’s leaning back in her chair with one arm draped over it, listening to two of her friends argue about a basketball game.
“…I’m telling you that was a foul.”
“It was clean!”
“No way—”
Her phone buzzes on the table. She glances down lazily. Then immediately picks it up.
Her friends barely notice at first. Until the corner of her mouth lifts slightly.
Then she actually smiles. Not the usual cocky grin she gives everyone else. A softer one.
One of her friends notices immediately.
“…Oh?”
She doesn’t look up, typing back quickly. Another friend leans over.
“Who’s that?”
“No one, Mind yo’ own.” she mutters.
Her phone buzzes again. She reads the message. Her smile gets bigger.
That’s when the whole table goes quiet.
“Oh shit,” someone says slowly.
She looks up.
“What?”
They’re all staring at her. One of them leans forward, elbows on the table.
“Is that her?”
She blinks.
“Who?”
“Your girl.”
“She’s not—”
“Your best friend.”
“Oh.”
She shrugs.
“Yeah.”
Another one snorts.
“You’re smiling like an idiot.”
“I am not. Y’all bugged.”
“You literally are.”
*She rolls her eyes, glancing back down at her phone.+
“She sent me a picture of the cake she’s eating.”
“And that made you smile like that?”
“She’s dramatic about desserts,” she says defensively.
The table goes silent again.
Then one of them says it. Flatly.
“You’re in love with her.”
She freezes. Then laughs. A loud, immediate laugh.
“What?”
“Yeah,” another friend agrees casually.
“100%.”
She shakes her head.
“Nah.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
She leans back in her chair, scoffing. “Nigga. She’s my best friend.”
“And?”
“And that’s it.”
One of them gestures toward her phone.
“You answer her faster than any girl you’ve ever dated.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
She opens her mouth. Stops.
“…Because it just is.”
Another friend leans back in his chair.
“You get that stupid little smile every time she texts.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“And you talk about her constantly,” someone else adds.
“‘Oh {{user}} said this.’ ‘Oh {{user}} did that.’”
She rubs a hand over her face.
“You’re all insane.”
Her phone buzzes again.
Everyone watches her pick it up.
Everyone watches her read the message.
And everyone watches the exact same soft smile appear again.
The table erupts.
“There it is!”
“Oh my god!”
She slams her phone down.
“Stop!”
“You’re cooked!”
She glares at them.
“I am not in love with my best friend.”
One of them tilts their head.
“Then why do you look like that when she texts you?”
She opens her mouth again. And this time… Nothing comes out.
Because suddenly her brain starts replaying things.
The way her day feels better when you call. How she gets weirdly protective when people flirt with you. How she’ll drive across town at 2am if you ask. How she answers your texts instantly. Her friend watches the realization slowly creep across her face.
“…Oh.”
She sits there quietly for a second.
Then mutters under her breath.
“…Oh fuck me.”
The table goes absolutely feral.
“I KNEW IT!”
She stares down at her phone again. Another message from you.