You don't notice a fracture in a wall the moment it forms.
It starts small a hairline crack, invisible at first, until one day, you run your hand across it and realize the whole thing is unstable.
That was Lila.
That was us.
It started with her saying she was going to the library.
"I need to study or I'll flunk this statistics quiz," she groaned, pulling her thick curls into a bun and throwing on a hoodie that swallowed her frame. She looked tired, which didn't surprise me , we were all burned out. Midterms had drained us both.
"Want me to come with you?" I asked, holding my tea mug in both hands.
She hesitated. Just for a moment.
Then smiled. "Nah. I focus better alone. You and Devon have plans anyway, right?"
I blinked. I didn't, actually. Devon had cancelled our dinner earlier, claiming his cousin had a medical emergency. But I didn't correct her. I just nodded.
Later that night, I curled up under my blanket with popcorn and some Netflix show humming in the background. I was halfway through episode three when my phone buzzed.
@Eva tagged you in a story.
I tapped it open, expecting a meme or maybe a blurry group photo. Instead, I saw Lila at a bar i didn't recognize. Neon lights. Loud music. A glittery drink in her hand. And she wasn't alone. A group of people I'd never met surrounded her, cheering.
The story was tagged "#litnight #bartherapy 🍾✨".
I paused it, stared at her face frozen on the screen , lips pursed around a straw, laughing.
Studying?
I told myself maybe she changed her mind. Maybe she went to study, got bored, and needed to blow off steam. Maybe she had a bad day and didn't want to talk about it.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
The next morning, she stumbled in around 7 a.m.
Dark sunglasses. Messy bun. The smell of vanilla perfume mixed with sweat and something stronger.
"Girl, the library was hell," she mumbled, kicking off her shoes and grabbing a granola bar from the kitchen. "I'm running on fumes."
I wanted to ask her. I wanted to say, You sure it was the library?
But I didn't.
Because if I asked, that meant I didn't trust her.
And if I didn't trust her, what were we?
So instead, I smiled and poured her orange juice. "Rest up."
She mumbled a thank you and disappeared into her room.
But that wasn't the only time. It became a pattern. Quiet changes. Whispered calls. Sudden exits. Unexplained nights. Locked doors.
She stopped telling me things. No more movie nights. No more lying in bed and dissecting texts from guys. No more late-night pancakes. I chalked it up to stress. Or maybe distance just… happened. Friends grow apart, right?
At least I still had Devon.
Until I didn't.
He changed too. Slowly. Subtly. Like someone turning down the volume on us.
Our phone calls went from hours to minutes. He stopped holding my hand in public. Started pulling away when I tried to cuddle him on the couch. His eyes once full of warmth and teasing started looking right through me.
I tried to ignore it. To compensate. I dressed cuter. Sent him more texts. Brought him his favorite takeout. He barely noticed.
One night, I finally asked, "Are you… is something wrong between us?"
He was lying on the couch, scrolling through his phone.
His reply was automatic. "Nah. Just tired, babe. School's a lot right now."
I nodded, biting my lip.
Just tired.
That excuse was becoming everyone's favorite lullaby. Lila. Devon. The whole world was exhausted or maybe just exhausting.
Later that week, I came home early from class and heard voices in the kitchen.
Lila's and Devon's.
I stopped outside the hallway, suddenly alert.
"I'm just saying, she doesn't see it," Lila said, her voice low, frustrated. "You keep acting like nothing's wrong."
A pause.
Devon responded, "It's complicated, Lila. She's sensitive, okay?"
Sensitive?
Was I a problem now?
I inched closer. My heart pounded so loudly I worried they'd hear it.
Lila sighed. "This is going to blow up. You know that, right?"
"I'm handling it."
Silence.
I rushed back to my room, heart racing. Questions screamed in my head Was Lila telling him to break up with me? Were they sleeping together behind my back? Why were they talking about me in secret?
That night, Lila didn't come home. Devon didn't text.
The nest ,the place that once felt warm, full of late-night laughter and face masks ... now felt like it had eyes in the walls. Like I was being watched and tested all the time, but no one would give me the answers.
I started checking my surroundings more. Peeking at Lila's laptop when she left the room. Listening at doors. Hating myself for it.
Then one evening, I caught something strange.
I walked into the kitchen to grab tea. Lila's phone was on the table, unlocked, as she showered. A message thread with a name I didn't recognize Mara.Detective ,was open.
Mara.Detective: He was at the rooftop bar again. Same girl. Same pattern. got the photo.
Lila: Good. She won't believe it unless I show her.
Mara.Detective: You sure you want to go through with this?
Lila: I have to. She deserves the truth.
I froze.
What… was this?
Who was Lila talking about?
Who was he?
Was it… Devon?
Before I could read more, Lila stepped out of the hallway, towel wrapped around her head.
"Tea again?" she asked with a lazy smile. "You're basically 90 years old."
I laughed nervously, heart thudding in my ears. "Yeah, well. I like warm things."
She nodded, heading into her room, never noticing I had seen the messages.
I stood there in the kitchen, gripping my mug like it was the only solid thing left in my life.
Suddenly, nothing made sense.
Not her lies.
Not Devon's distance.
Not the coldness I felt in my own home.
All I knew was that something was being hidden and I wasn't sure who was the liar… or the protector.