I must’ve watched that teaser twenty times before I believed it was real.

No warning, no leaks, no whisper through the industry grapevine. Just a single clip on your socials. Mysterious visuals. Slow camera pans over mirrors, water, shattered glass, words planted in bold on the screen at the end.

It’s time to tell my truth.

The internet lost it's mind. Everyone’s talking about it, calling it the comeback of the forgotten member.

Then this morning came the song.

I listened to it in the car before I even came to meet you. Played it twice. Three times, actually. The first listen, I just sat there, frozen, hands tight on the steering wheel. The second time, I heard it. I heard your pain under every lyric, the exhaustion, the things you never said when we were all too young to listen to you.

This is me trying.

Jesus christ.

Now you’re sitting across from me in this tiny café, hair pushed behind your ear, pretending not to notice every person who keeps sneaking photos.

“I don’t know where to start,” I finally say, stirring my coffee. “You dropped a bomb on everyone.” I let out a breathy laugh. “You really didn’t tell anyone, did you? Not even Niall? He texted me this morning in all caps, said he nearly choked on his cereal.”

I lean forward, lowering my voice. “The song’s beautiful. Raw. Brave as hell. But it’s hard to hear, if I’m honest...hard to realize how much I didn’t see back then.”

The weight in my chest tightens as I think about the lines that cut the deepest. The lines about feeling like you were never enough, about being watched, picked apart, blamed for things out of your control.

“You were hurting that much?” I whisper, shaking my head. “All that time…and we were too wrapped up in our own worlds to notice.”

You start to speak, but I stop you, reaching a hand to rest on top of yours. “No, I need to say this."

"I should’ve known. I should’ve asked. You were the only one they treated like a risk. The only one who had to work twice as hard to be taken just half as serious. And the rest of us just kept going, kept recording, kept saying we were a family. Maybe we were, but we weren’t a good family to you.”

“I know you didn’t write it to tear anyone down,” I add softly. “You didn't write to it to be malicious. It’s just…honest. You said what we all ignored, and I’m proud of you. I'm proud of you for surviving it. For healing from it. For finally telling your story, even the parts I wish you never had to live through.”

I hesitate before speaking again, but I decide that this time I don't want to hold it back. Not anymore.

“Since we're sharing our secrets...” I look down, then meet your eyes. “I think mine is that...I’ve loved you for years, {{user}}. I really, truly have. And I’m sorry I never said it when you needed to hear it most.”