Season 1, Episode 6 of "Before She Knew My Heart"
Ayla wasn't far.In fact, she still lived next door.Our bedroom windows still faced each other.Her windchimes still made the same soft noise when it rained.
But somehow…she felt miles out of reach.
We had both stepped into new worlds.She into the chaos of medical college — anatomy books thicker than our childhood photo albums.And I, into lecture halls filled with codes and dreams I didn't fully understand yet.New campuses. New classmates. New distractions.
But not new homes.
We still passed each other on the way out sometimes.Still exchanged quick "hey"s in the morning.Still occasionally stood outside on our balconies at the same time, brushing teeth like we used to.
But it wasn't the same.
She used to send random pictures of her lunch and ask me to rate her mom's cooking.Now I got forwarded memes and mass snaps with streak emojis.
I used to walk her home from tuition.Now, she went with a group of classmates — mostly girls, but a few guys too. One of them had a laugh she laughed at more than mine.
I noticed.
Maybe I was being dramatic.Maybe this was just what growing up meant.But it stung in small, quiet ways — ways you can't cry about, because there's no reason to.
Like the time I sent her a reel at midnight and she replied with a 'haha' twelve hours later.Or the time I saw her laugh at something someone else said — that laugh I used to think was mine.
We weren't fighting.We weren't distant in any official way.But something about her was changing.And something about me was holding on too tightly to what we used to be.
She wore new perfumes now.Talked about medical rounds, professors who were "too chill," and classmates I'd never met.She once mentioned a guy named Reyan. Said he cracked jokes during dissections and brought Oreo milkshakes for everyone on Fridays.
She called him "funny."
I smiled.And pretended my stomach didn't twist like a rope.
I didn't want to be possessive.I didn't want to be the guy who felt entitled to her time.But I missed the girl who used to narrate her day to me before even changing out of her uniform.
Now, when she came home, her lights stayed off longer.Her Instagram stories went up before our conversations did.She was still Ayla.Still the girl with pigtails and biscuit packets and sunshine in her eyes.
But she wasn't mine.And she never had been.
One evening, I waited outside our gate.We used to sit on the low wall there, legs dangling, sharing stories and half-eaten samosas.
She walked by that day. Smiled.Said, "I'm late for a call. Rain check?"
I nodded.Said, "Sure."
Watched her leave with a guy from her class.He carried her notes.
She didn't look back.
I sat there for a while — the rain beginning to fall in the distance, thunder rumbling like a warning from the sky.
Maybe she hadn't changed.
Maybe I was just watching her grow into someone I couldn't follow.
And the worst part?
I didn't even blame her.
Because deep down, I knew…
We were still neighbors.Still childhood best friends.But not the same girl.Not the same us.