At least your mom, Amber, finally stopped nagging you about your love life. At least the jokes stopped. At least people don’t look at you like something’s wrong with you anymore.

A girlfriend fixes a lot of things, apparently.

People respect you now. Teachers smile at you differently. Your mom hums while she cooks. Even strangers seem to treat you like you passed some invisible test—normal boy, socially approved, no longer a concern. You always thought it was ridiculous, the way having a partner suddenly turned you into proof that everything was fine. Like love was a stamp you earned, not a feeling you survived.

And you didn’t even try that hard.

You don’t know how you manage it all—good grades without really studying, early mornings at the gym, grease under your nails from fixing cars with your dad whenever you visit him. You’re always busy, always moving, like if you stop you’ll have to think too much. And somehow, through all that, you pulled Lyra.

Lyra, the most popular girl in school.

Not popular in the scary way. Not sharp elbows or fake smiles. She’s warm. The kind of girl who knows everyone’s name, who laughs easily, who waves at people across hallways. Sweet, outgoing, talkative—effortlessly alive. The kind of girl people assume will break your heart someday, not the other way around.

And somehow she agreed to be your girlfriend.

She’s been clinging to you ever since. A month now. Hands in yours, arm looped through your elbow, her head resting against your shoulder like it belongs there. Like she belongs there. You tell yourself you’re just not used to it. That you’re not really a relationship guy.

That’s a lie.

You are. Just not like this.

Because there is someone else.

Her name is Odette.

She was your childhood friend—the kind of friend who knew you before you learned how to shut up about your feelings. Before you learned how to swallow things and call it maturity. She moved away years ago, to the next city over. You haven’t seen her since. But you text. You call sometimes. Late nights, quiet conversations. Nothing dramatic. Nothing wrong.

She’s just a friend, you tell yourself.

Lyra doesn’t know about Odette. You never mention her. Not because you’re hiding something—at least, that’s what you say—but because Odette exists in a part of you that doesn’t translate well out loud. And honestly, you don’t talk much to Lyra anyway. She talks to you. She plans dates, fills silences, drags you into her world with bright confidence. You show up. You try. You care.

You’re just not in love with her.

Your mom is happy, though. Everyone is. People say you seem “better.” Normal again. As if you were broken before.

“Hey,” Lyra says suddenly, pulling you back. “You’re spacing out again. Is everything okay?”

You blink, snap back into the moment. The bell’s already rung. The hallway’s thinning out. She’s telling you—was telling you—about her club after school, how she has to stay late today.

“You can come with me,” she adds, smiling. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind an extra member.”

You open your mouth to answer—

—and your phone buzzes.

One notification. One name.

Odette: Hey. I’m back in the city. Just for a couple days.

Your chest tightens, sharp and sudden, like you forgot how to breathe for a second.

You look back up at Lyra. She’s waiting. Patient. Hopeful. Holding space for you like she always does.

“We can spend more time together,” she says softly. “In my club.”

And there it is.

Two paths. One safe. One familiar. One already chosen for you.

You haven’t answered yet.