The door creaked open wider overnight.
Not just the literal one Tyler left ajar. The metaphorical one too the door in my head I've kept sealed for years, the one with duct tape, deadbolts, and maybe a few emotional landmines.
And now?
Now it's cracked open.
Wide enough for something to slip through.
The morning starts quiet. Too quiet.
No teasing. No smug Tyler comments from across the hallway. Just muffled footsteps and the sound of running water.
I get dressed and wander into the kitchen where Tyler's already at the counter, scrolling through his phone. He looks... tense. Jaw tight. Eyes unreadable.
"Morning," I say.
He hums in response, not looking up.
Okay then.
I grab cereal and pour too much milk, mostly for the excuse to make noise. The silence presses heavy between us, the kind that feels full of things unsaid.
"You good?" I ask, finally.
He doesn't look up. "Fine."
Liar.
I sit across from him, spoon in hand, and watch him. Something's off.
"You're quiet."
He sighs, finally setting his phone down. "Just tired."
I don't think it's about being tired but before I can press any further, Mom walks in with her usual fake cheer and bright lipstick. Mr. Morgan follows with his news app and zero awareness.
Another day in the Morgan household.
Except it isn't.
Something shifted.
I just don't know what.
Yet.
At school, I can't seem to focus properly on anything.
Tyler keeps his distance,it's like he is doing everything he can to avoid me . And the one time our eyes meet in the hallway, he looks away first like looking at me will reveal something hidden.
That's new.
Dan notices. Of course.
"Trouble in slow burn paradise?" he teases.
Dan notices things to fast and too much it's annoying but it comes in handy a lot of time.
"Something's up with him."
Dan squints across the cafeteria. "Maybe he's moody. Or he found out his ex has rabies."
"Be serious."
"I am. Emotional rabies is real."
I roll my eyes, but the pit in my stomach doesn't go away.
" He's been like this all day"
"Emotional rabies it is"
Dan said as we walk to our final class for the day .
Later, I find out why.
That night, the house is too quiet again.
Tyler's door is shut. My mom and Mr. Morgan are out at some dinner function. I've got the living room to myself, but the couch feels colder without him slouched on the other end, teasing, smirking and tossing popcorn.
I end up scrolling through old photos.
Me and Dan. Me and Mom. Me and...
I stop on one.
I haven't looked at this one in years.
It's blurry. A little boy with messy hair and scraped knees. Me. Standing next to another boy, older, grinning.
Brayan.
My chest tightens.
I almost forgot this photo existed.
I almost forgot he existed.
But that's a lie.
I never really forgot.
I shoved him into a box labeled Too painful. Do not open.
Brayan.
The boy who saved me. The boy who...
A sudden knock startles me.
Three sharp raps.
I blink at the door.
No one should be here.
I peek through the peephole.
Nothing.
Just shadows.
Then I see it. A folded piece of paper, slipped under the door.
I pick it up.
My hands shake as I read the words written in familiar handwriting:
"You don't know the truth about Brayan."
My vision blurs.
The name. The memory. The way it ended. All of it rushes back like a wave.
I stagger backward, heart hammering.
How? Who?
And why now?
I turn the note over.
A phone number.
No name.
Just the number and one last line beneath it, barely legible:
"Ask Tyler."
I stare at the paper like it might dissolve if I blink too hard.
But it doesn't. It just sits there in my hand like a curse that found its way home.
"Ask Tyler."
The words burn more than the name itself.
Why would Tyler,Tyler, of all people know anything about Brayan?
Back then, I barely understood what was happening. Brayan was there, and then he wasn't. No explanations. No funeral. Just one day of silence and a room that no one dared enter again. The adults whispered, avoided eye contact, swept his existence under the rug like spilled secrets.
And I let them.
I wanted to let them.
Because remembering Brayan meant remembering everything else.
What he did.
What he saw.
What I felt.
A weight settles on my chest, old and familiar. The panic. The nausea. That helpless, shameful feeling like I've done something wrong by simply surviving.
I press the paper flat against the coffee table and back away from it like it might bite.
And then I hear footsteps.
Tyler's.
His door creaks open upstairs, slow and deliberate. My instincts kick in I tuck the paper under the couch cushion and try to look normal. Bored. Unbothered. Like I'm just another teenager aimlessly scrolling through social media instead of being haunted by ghosts with perfect penmanship.
He walks into the living room, hoodie half zipped, expression unreadable.
"You okay?" he asks.
I nod too quickly. "Yeah. Fine."
His eyes narrow slightly. "You sure? You look like you saw a ghost."
I force a laugh. "Just tired."
He doesn't push, but I can tell he doesn't buy it.
He sits on the armrest across from me, his eyes scanning my face like he's trying to read the static between my thoughts.
"Was someone at the door?"
My stomach drops.
How the hell did he know?
"Why would you think that?"
He shrugs. "Thought I heard something. Figured it was food delivery or something."
I shake my head. "Nothing. Just the wind."
His eyes linger on me for a beat too long.
Then he stands. "Cool. I'm going for a run. Clear my head."
I nod, pretending not to care.
But as soon as he disappears down the hall, I reach under the cushion and pull the note back out.
Ask Tyler.
I stare at the number. My thumb hovers over my phone screen, debating.
I could call.
I could not call.
But either way, nothing goes back to the way it was before this. Not after Brayan's name was pulled out of the ashes of my past.
Instead, I slide the paper into my pocket and head upstairs. My hand shakes as I knock on Tyler's bedroom door twice, then three times.
No answer.
I open it anyway.
Empty.
But something stops me in the doorway.
A photo.
Tucked beneath a pile of books on his desk.
It's old. Faded.
Two boys at a park.
One of them is unmistakably me.
The other…
No.
No. No. No.
It's Brayan.
And Tyler.
Together.
My throat tightens. The floor feels unsteady beneath me.
He knew him?
Why didn't he ever say anything?
Why is his past buried in mine?
Suddenly, it's not just the door to my past that's open.
It's Tyler's too.
And it's darker than I ever imagined.
Well damn.