You noticed it first in the little things.
Your best friend no longer walked you to class every morning. Their arm didn't casually loop around your shoulder like it used to. Their voice, once filled with playful taunts and teasing remarks, had dulled—like they were pulling back, leaving space you never asked for.
And your quiet friend?
They were still there. Always. Watching. Waiting. But they had grown even quieter. Like they were hoping you'd make the next move.
Somewhere along the way, the ease between the three of you had unraveled. And in the middle of it stood her.
Asuka.
She was blunt, observant, and eerily good at reading you. You weren't sure if she wanted to be your friend, your rival, or something else entirely.
"You're thinking too loud," she said, interrupting your thoughts as you both sat by the school garden after lunch.
You blinked. "What?"
"You wear guilt like perfume," she said, plucking a blade of grass. "Strong. Lingering."
You sighed, resting your chin in your palm. "It's not easy. Choosing... or not choosing. I feel like no matter what I do, I'm going to break something."
Asuka gave a half-smile. "That's what love does. It's not clean. It's a little cruel."
You didn't answer.
She glanced sideways. "Your best friend's jealous. The quiet one is hurting. And you—" she looked at you with an unreadable expression, "you're stuck in a fantasy where you think everyone can walk away happy."
"Can't they?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.
She leaned back, gaze on the clouds. "Not unless one of them gives up."
The thought made your chest tighten.
Later that afternoon, while packing your things, you noticed something missing.
Your notebook — the one where you scribbled your private thoughts, doodles, and dreams. It wasn't in your desk or your locker.
Panic rose in your throat.
You retraced your steps, searching the school, until you finally found it…
In the music room.
Alone.
With your best friend.
They were sitting on the piano bench, your notebook open on their lap. You froze in the doorway.
They didn't look up.
"I found it under your desk," they said. "Didn't mean to read it, but... I did."
You walked in slowly. "You read the whole thing?"
They nodded. "Enough."
You waited for anger. For sarcasm. But they simply looked tired.
"There's this part," they said, voice low, "where you wrote about how you were afraid of hurting the people who love you. You said you wished you could split your heart in two and give it to both."
Your cheeks burned. "I was just—venting."
They finally looked at you. "You really do love us both, don't you?"
You nodded. Slowly. Painfully.
They smiled—but it was the saddest one you'd ever seen from them.
"I always thought I had time," they said. "Time to win you over. Time to make you laugh until you couldn't imagine life without me."
"You already did," you whispered.
"But I didn't make you choose me," they replied. "I didn't become the one you needed. And maybe that's on me."
You felt something crack inside. "Please don't say you're giving up."
They stood, placing the notebook in your hands.
"I'm just... stepping back," they said. "Not to lose. But because if I stay close, I'll just end up resenting you."
Tears pricked your eyes. "I never wanted to hurt you."
"I know," they whispered. "But sometimes, love hurts. Even the purest kind."
They walked past you, leaving a hollow silence behind.
You stood alone in the music room, notebook clutched to your chest, the silence deafening.
That night, you didn't sleep.
You stared at your phone, waiting for a message that didn't come. Neither of them texted.
Only Asuka did.
Asuka:Still think standing still is kinder?
You didn't reply.
Because you didn't know anymore.