We knew each other because our best friends fell in love first.

She was Clara's best friend, a scholarship student who somehow found herself in our circle. I was one of Hugo's closest friends. We spent years crossing paths through them—parties, late-night dinners, birthdays, celebrations. We were never particularly close, but close enough to notice each other.

Then, one night in college, I kissed her.

I was a coward after that.

Instead of make things clear and official, I buried it. She pulled away. I let her. Neither of us brought it up again, and for the sake of Clara and Hugo, we acted like nothing had happened. Whatever existed between us stayed exactly where we left it—unfinished.

After graduation, I thought that would be the last time I'd ever see her.

I was wrong.

Hugo and Clara got married, and somehow we kept finding ourselves in the same room again. Housewarming parties. Holiday dinners. Birthday celebrations. The night they announced Clara was pregnant. Then the day Elio was born, when they stood in front of us with stupidly happy smiles and asked us to be his godparents.

From then on, seeing each other became normal. We'd visit the house at the same time accidentally, exchange polite nodded, help when the couple asked, and leave. We never talked about the kiss. We never talked about us. By then, pretending nothing had happened had become second nature.

Then, two weeks ago, Hugo and Clara died in accident, no one prepare for this.

Now there's only Elio.

Three years old. Too young to understand why his parents aren't coming home.

I'm handling everything Hugo left behind—the legal matters, the finances, the responsibilities. She's taking care of everything Clara no longer can. Elio reaches for her before anyone else, and she never hesitates to hold him.

So she moved into my house because, right now, it's the only arrangement that makes sense.

Tonight after Elio finally falls asleep, I tell her what I've decided.

"I'll take care of everything."