The following morning was colder than usual. You could feel it in your chest more than your skin. The absence of your best friend beside you, the silence of your phone, the way even the sunrise seemed muted — all of it pressed heavy against you.
You walked through the school gates feeling like something vital was missing.
Your quiet friend was already there, sitting by the window in class, chin propped in his hand as he stared out. He didn't turn when you entered. Didn't offer his usual gentle smile or ask if you'd eaten breakfast. Just silence.
You sat beside him anyway.
"Are you mad at me too?" you asked softly.
He didn't respond.
The weight of everything — the broken rhythm of your trio, your best friend's retreat, and your own confusion — was crushing.
"I didn't know what to say," you whispered. "I still don't."
Finally, he turned to you. His eyes, usually calm and deep, were stormy.
"You don't have to say anything," he said, voice low. "I've always known."
"Known what?"
"That you cared for both of us." He gave a hollow laugh. "I just thought if I stayed by your side long enough, if I never asked for more, then maybe—someday—you'd look at me the same way you looked at him."
Your heart clenched. "But I do care about you—"
"But not like that," he interrupted, gently. "I know."
The bell rang, but neither of you moved.
He took a deep breath. "Do you remember when we were ten? You got into a fight with those boys from the next class because they were teasing me."
You smiled faintly. "You were crying."
"I wasn't crying," he said quickly, then paused. "Okay, maybe a little."
You both laughed — a soft, broken sound.
"You told me you'd protect me forever," he said. "That I didn't need to change or be loud or cool, because you liked me the way I was."
"I meant it," you replied.
He nodded. "And that was the day I fell in love with you."
You stared at him, stunned.
"I knew you didn't feel the same back then," he continued, looking away. "But I thought... maybe if I stayed close... maybe if I waited..."
Tears welled in your eyes. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Because I didn't want to burden you. You were already trying to make everyone happy. And because if I told you and it changed things, I was afraid I'd lose even this."
He turned to face you again.
"But now... it's too painful to pretend."
Silence fell again.
"I'm sorry," you whispered. "For being so selfish. For keeping you both close because I was afraid to lose either of you."
His expression softened. "You're not selfish. You're kind. Too kind."
He stood slowly. "I don't want to walk away. But I also don't want to be just a shadow beside you."
He hesitated, then gently brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb.
"I love you," he said. "And I think I always will. But I can't keep waiting for a day that may never come."
Then he turned and walked away.
You stood there, frozen. His words echoed in your ears, and your chest felt like it was splitting in two.
That night, you wandered the streets alone. The city lights were blurry through your tears. You passed the places the three of you used to visit — the arcade, the park, the corner café.
Every memory, every laugh, came back like a tide.
You ended up by the river, sitting on the cold stone wall, staring into the rippling darkness.
You didn't notice the presence beside you until a familiar coat was draped over your shoulders.
You looked up, heart skipping.
It was your best friend.
"I heard," he said quietly. "About what he said."
You swallowed. "He's right. About everything."
He sat beside you, legs swinging over the edge. "Yeah, he is. And I've been a coward too. I joked and teased, but I never told you what really mattered."
You turned to him, eyes wide.
"I love you," he said simply.
The world stilled.
"I've loved you since you shared half your umbrella with me in the third grade and then got soaked yourself," he said with a small smile. "I've just been waiting... hoping you'd choose me. But maybe that wasn't fair to you either."
You stared at him, the river reflecting the trembling stars above.
"I don't know what to do," you admitted. "I feel like if I choose one of you, I'll lose the other."
He sighed. "Maybe you will. Or maybe... you just need to stop trying to carry us both. We're not your responsibility."
You looked down. "But I can't imagine life without either of you."
He reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.
"Then maybe," he said gently, "you need to start imagining what life looks like for you. Without guilt. Without fear. Just... honestly."
And in that still, fragile moment, something inside you cracked — and healed.