Lost & Found (Part 1)

At the lake where Elise spent her childhood summers, the past refuses to stay buried.

Chapter 1
"Meeting Place - Young Elise"

Every summer, my family insisted I go to camp—like it was some kind of cure for whatever was wrong with me.

“Make friends,” my mother said.

“Learn how to tie those super cool knots,” my father added.

I always came back the same old Elise, though. And if I had learned anything, it was that I had a passion for music—and that being by White Pine Lake inspired me.

Most days, camp felt loud and messy, full of people I didn’t know and didn’t want to know. I really only had one friend, Maddie. She made camp more bearable. But when she moved four hours away and stopped coming, every summer after that felt heavier, emptier. I wasn’t sure how I survived those two months without her.

But here I was, on the last day of camp, tucked away at the one place I could always escape to: a spot by the lake, hidden between two towering pines that leaned together like they were whispering secrets. The air smelled of cold water and pine needles—sharp and alive. This was my spot.

Across the lake stood an old Victorian house, three stories tall, paint peeling, ivy wrapped tight around the frame like it was holding the place together. I’d been telling myself since I first came to Pine Hollow that one day I would live there. That house, that lake—they were the only things that ever quieted the noise in my head. When I sat here with my guitar, the world slowed. The silence wrapped around me, and the songs came—like soft ripples on the water, pulling me beneath the surface into stories I was only just learning to tell.

It wasn’t long before I heard footsteps crunching through the leaves. My spot had been found. I had been found.

Annoyed, I shot a sharp look at the boy who had disrupted my peace. I’d seen him around camp before. James, I thought.

He wasn’t exactly popular—not the kind of guy who had a group trailing after him everywhere. Neither did I. But I noticed him. I always noticed him.

His dark hair was messy, like he hadn’t bothered to fight with it that morning. He wore ridiculous goggle-sized glasses that left red marks on his nose, and when he smiled, his braces practically caught the sunlight. Not to mention the inhaler—he always had it in his hand, like it was an extra limb.

People probably thought he was nerdy. And maybe he was. But honestly? I thought he was kind of cute. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud.

“Can I help you?” I asked, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

He stepped closer, a half-smile tugging at his mouth, braces flashing. His eyes were steady and curious.
“I heard your song,” he said. “Didn’t mean to intrude.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You were spying?”

He laughed softly, the sound like the breeze stirring the pines.
“Maybe. But only because I wanted to hear more.”

He hesitated, then lowered himself onto the rock beside me, close enough that I could smell pine and earth clinging to his clothes. I didn’t move to stop him.

“So,” he said softly, “what’s the song called?”

I shrugged, fingers still resting on the strings. “I don’t know yet. Still figuring it out.”

He nodded like he understood. His eyes never left mine.
“I like that,” he said. “The way it feels unfinished.”

For a moment, we just sat there in silence, the only sounds the gentle lap of the lake against the shore and the distant calls of other campers.

James pointed across the water, squinting into the sun. “What do you think about that house?”

I followed his finger. The big place loomed over the lake with its wraparound porch and wide windows that looked like they could swallow the whole view. It was perfect in that glossy, untouchable kind of way.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, setting my guitar aside.

He gave a little shrug, his voice quieter. “Yeah… a lot of people say it’s haunted, though.”

I turned my head toward him, lips quirking. The words slipped out before I could stop them.
“Well… all beautiful things are.”

As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t. It sounded dramatic, too heavy for a summer afternoon at camp. But James didn’t laugh. He didn’t roll his eyes. He just looked at me—really looked—like I’d said something worth remembering.

“Well,” he said slowly, “what about you? Are you haunted?”

The question hit me sideways. Was he calling me beautiful? My cheeks warmed, my heart stuttered. I forced my face to stay even, lifted one shoulder.

“Maybe I am,” I said.

Before he could answer, a counselor’s voice rang across camp.
“Dinner time, campers!”

I stood quickly, brushing dirt from my shorts. I only made it a few steps before turning back to him.

“I’m Elise,” I said.

His eyebrows lifted. “Don’t you want to know my name?”

I couldn’t help the little smile tugging at my mouth. Instead of answering, I turned and walked toward the dining hall, leaving him sitting there on the dock with the question still between us.

Chapter 2
“I’m Here - Present Day Elise

The library was hushed except for the scratch of pencils and the faint shuffle of papers. I sat at one of the long oak tables, my textbook spread wide, highlighter in hand. I was supposed to be memorizing dates, names, whole paragraphs that blurred together after a while. But somewhere between lines of text, my mind drifted back.

Back to the envelope.

White, plain, and thin—sitting in the mailbox like it held nothing at all. Except it had.

The University of Minnesota had been on my radar for as long as I could remember. My mom still kept her maroon hoodie from freshman year folded in the closet, soft with age. My dad loved to bring up the time he got lost on campus and ended up in a philosophy lecture he wasn’t signed up for. Minnesota wasn’t just a university. It was theirs. And part of me always knew it would be mine, too.

I remembered ripping open that letter in my bedroom, the word Congratulations printed bold at the top. My heart had thudded so loud I thought Mom would hear it before I even got downstairs to show her. She cried when I did, Dad clapped me on the shoulder like I’d just made varsity. And me—I just stood there grinning like an idiot, letter shaking in my hands, because somehow I’d gotten in.

I could’ve gone somewhere closer—St. Louis, maybe Chicago. Somewhere friends were circling in brochures and dreaming about. But Minnesota felt different. It felt like stepping into their story and writing my own.

And now here I was, a year later, sitting under the glow of library lights, highlighting sentences that refused to stick.

The library on campus was nearly empty that night, the kind of silence where you could hear the hum of the fluorescent bulbs overhead. I had my usual corner, the one by the window, with a fortress of books around me and my songbook open in the middle. I was halfway through outlining a paper when I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye.

He slid into a chair two tables over, setting down his laptop and rubbing his temples like he was already defeated before he even began. I caught a quick glimpse of him—bright blonde hair that refused to stay in place, sleeves pushed up his forearms, the kind of casual tiredness that made him look more approachable than intimidating. He noticed me noticing him and gave a small nod before plugging in his headphones.

And that was it. Nothing more. I didn’t even think much about it afterward.

Until the second time.

Another late night, another empty library. I’d been there for over an hour when I heard the scrape of a chair and looked up. Same table. Same messy hair. Maybe even the same sweatshirt. He caught me staring and smiled.

“You again,” he said softly, setting his bag down.

I raised an eyebrow. “And you. You must love musty old libraries that smell like stale coffee.”

“Guilty,” he whispered with a grin, then leaned closer as though to share a secret. “Actually, it’s the table I love. Good view of the exit, in case the fluorescent lights finally fry my brain and I need to make a run for it.”

I bit back a laugh and shook my head, but he’d already hooked me.

After a moment of silence, he leaned across the table. “I’m Michael, by the way. Figured I should introduce myself if I’m going to keep accidentally interrupting your study sessions.”

“Elise,” I said, hesitating a second before shaking his hand. His palm was warm, calloused in a way I didn’t expect.

He tilted his head. “So, Elise, what’s keeping you here at this ungodly hour? World domination? Or just midterms?”

“Midterms,” I admitted, rolling my eyes. “Graphic design major. The professor thinks we all live and breathe color palettes. I’m about one shade of blue away from losing it.”

Michael chuckled. “Sounds like torture. I’m in business. Numbers, presentations, pretending to know what I’m talking about. I keep waiting for someone to call me out, but so far so good.”

“Isn’t business what you major in when you don’t actually know what you want to do with your life?” I asked.

“Basically,” he said without hesitation.
We talked longer than I realized we would—about classes, professors we both hated, the weird quirks of campus life. He had this way of making small things sound funny: the vending machine that ate his money last week, the time he spilled coffee on his laptop and begged IT for mercy. I found myself laughing more than studying, my pen forgotten in the crease of my notebook.

When I finally checked the clock, it was nearly midnight. I packed up slowly, not ready for the conversation to end.

“Guess I’ll see you around,” I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

“You will,” he replied with a confidence that caught me off guard. “Same time next week?”

I smirked. “We’ll see.”

But as I walked back to my dorm, his voice replayed in my head—warm and sure. I told myself it was nothing, just coincidence. But deep down, I already knew I’d be looking for him the next time I walked into that library.

The following week, I was already at our table, headphones in, sketching absentmindedly in the margin of my notes. My playlist was low, but I still caught the sound of his footsteps before I saw him. Some part of me must have been waiting for it.

I glanced up. Sure enough—Michael. Same lopsided grin, same too-casual way he dropped his bag into the chair across from me like he belonged there.

“You really do live here,” he said.

I smirked. “Says the guy who keeps showing up at the exact same time.”

“Touché.” That boyish half-smile again. “Maybe I just like the company.”

That threw me for a second. My stomach did this ridiculous flip, and I looked back at my notes too quickly, pretending to reread the same sentence three times. “Well, midterms are over, so you must really like the company if you’re spending your Friday evening in a musty old library.”

He shrugged, papers spilling out of a folder as he fumbled. “Don’t judge me. Organization isn’t my strong suit.”

I laughed before I could stop myself. “Shouldn’t business majors be the epitome of organization?”

“I’m not just any business major,” he shot back, grinning.

I shook my head and returned to my half-finished lyrics. Somehow, studying fell to the bottom of the list again.

I learned his middle name was James, that he hated black coffee but drank it anyway, that he was the youngest of three brothers. He asked about my family, and I admitted I was an only child—that my parents still treated me like I was twelve whenever I came home for breaks.

At one point, he leaned closer, pointing at the doodles in the corner of my notebook. “Did you draw that?”

I hesitated, embarrassed. “Yeah. Just messing around.”

“It’s good,” he said simply. “Really good.”

My cheeks warmed, and I ducked my head. No one had ever said it like that before—like it wasn’t just a doodle, like it meant something.

When the librarian flicked the lights to signal closing time, neither of us moved right away. It wasn’t until she cleared her throat pointedly that I started packing up.

We walked out together. The campus was crisp and quiet, only a few students hurrying across the quad. My dorm was in one direction, his in another, but we lingered under the same lamppost, neither of us in a rush.

“See you again?” he asked.

I wanted to play it cool, but the words slipped out before I could stop them. “Yeah. Definitely.”

And when I got back to my room, tossing my bag onto the floor, I realized I hadn’t thought about my exams once the entire night. Just him.

By the weekend, I had almost convinced myself to stop thinking about Michael Harper. Almost.

Then I walked into the student union for the fall mixer, and there he was.
It wasn’t anything fancy—just one of those campus events with bad punch, string lights, and a DJ trying too hard. People milled around in clusters, half networking, half scoping out who was there. I had tagged along with Claire, who insisted I needed to have some fun for once.

I wasn’t expecting to see him across the room, leaning against a table like he had all the time in the world. When our eyes met, that grin spread across his face, and suddenly the room felt smaller, like the music had dulled and the chatter faded.

“Well,” he said when I finally made my way over, “look who’s branching out from the library.”

I laughed. “Don’t get used to it. I’m still more comfortable with textbooks than dance floors.”

He offered me a plastic cup of punch. “Then we’ll stick to the safe zone. No dancing required.”

Claire gave me a knowing look and winked as she wandered off, leaving me alone with him.

We talked for a while about classes and professors, trading horror stories of endless lectures. Somewhere between mocking the soggy pizza slices and laughing at the DJ’s terrible playlist, the conversation shifted.

“So,” Michael said, tilting his head, “you’re studying graphic design, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“You don’t sound too thrilled about it.”

I hesitated, then sighed, letting my guard slip a little. “It’s… fine. But it’s not really my passion.”

“Oh?” His curiosity sharpened. “What’s the real passion, then?”

Heat crept up my neck. I fiddled with the cup in my hands. “Music. Writing songs, singing. If I could do anything, I’d want to be a singer-songwriter. That’s the dream.”

His brows lifted, a slow smile tugging at his mouth. “That’s… pretty different from designing logos. So why graphic design if that’s not what you want?”

I laughed nervously. “Because it’s what my dad wanted. He’s been in graphic design his whole life, and he’s always had this picture of me following in his footsteps. I didn’t have the heart to tell him no.”

Michael studied me for a long moment, his expression softer than before. “So you’re paying thousands of dollars for a degree you don’t even want, just to keep your dad happy?”

When he said it like that, it stung. “I mean… yeah, I guess. But it’s complicated. He’s proud of me. And I don’t want to disappoint him.”

“Still,” Michael said, leaning closer, his voice low, “don’t you think your dream matters, too?”

Something about the way he said it made my throat tighten. No one had ever put it so plainly before.

“Yeah,” I admitted quietly. “It does.”

We sat with that truth for a moment, the noise of the mixer blurring into the background. For the first time, I wondered if maybe Michael saw me more clearly than anyone else ever had.

Then his grin broke through, boyish and disarming. “So,” he said, leaning back against the table, “have you ever been on a date?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What kind of question is that?”

“A serious one,” he teased, shrugging. “Humor me.”

I laughed. “Of course I’ve been on dates. Why?”

He sipped his punch, pretending to think hard. “Okay, then. What’s your dream date? If some guy actually wanted to impress you, what would he do?”

I rolled my eyes, but the smile tugging at my lips betrayed me. “I don’t know… something thoughtful, I guess. Not expensive or over the top. Maybe take me somewhere quiet. Somewhere I could actually talk to the person. Maybe live music or a late-night drive. I like simple things.”

Michael nodded like he was mentally taking notes. “So no grand gestures. Got it. Quiet. Thoughtful. Talking. Maybe music.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, laughing.

“Ridiculous,” he agreed, pointing his cup toward me, “but a very good listener.”

I shook my head, trying to hide the warmth spreading through me.
Then he tilted his head, his eyes catching mine in a way that made my stomach flutter.

“What about coffee? Or dinner? Nothing fancy. Just you, me, and a chance to keep talking.”

It wasn’t a question, not really. More like a suggestion—casual, almost teasing. But the way he asked it, like it was the most natural thing in the world, made my chest tighten.

“Coffee sounds… nice,” I admitted.

His smile widened, slow and confident, like he’d been waiting for that answer all night.

“Then it’s a date.”

Chapter 3
"The First Dates - Michael

I stood in the middle of the campus bookstore like an idiot, staring at the shelves as if one of them would whisper, Pick me. I’m perfect for her.

Flowers, sure. That part had been easy—classic, safe, something my mom always told me was the right move when you liked a girl. But flowers wilt. A book… a book could last. And Elise felt like the kind of girl who deserved something that lasted.

I ran my hand along the spines until one caught my eye. A collection of poetry—Rupi Kaur. I remembered her saying in passing that she loved words, how she used them in her lyrics. Music was her dream, and poetry felt like a cousin to it. Something told me she’d get it.

I bought the book before I could overthink it and tucked it into my bag with the flowers, wrapped in plain brown paper. It wasn’t much, but it felt like me saying, I see you. I’ve been listening.

Back in my room, I tried to write a note to slip inside the book. I must’ve started three different times before I settled on something simple:

For the girl who makes late-night libraries worth it.

Cheesy. But true.

By the time I’d showered, changed my shirt twice, and wrestled with the decision of whether or not the flowers were too much for a first date (I decided they weren’t), I was pacing my room like a caged animal.

It was just coffee. That’s what I told myself. Just coffee.

But the truth was, it wasn’t just coffee. It was Elise.

When I finally walked into the coffee shop, clutching the flowers a little too tightly, my stomach turned as the bell above the door jingled. What if she thought it was over the top? What if I scared her off?

And then she came in.

Her eyes lit up when she saw me, and for the first time all day, I breathed easier.

“Are those… for me?” she asked, her voice half surprise, half smile.

I handed them to her, heat creeping up the back of my neck. “Yeah. And… uh, this too.” I slid the book across the table before I lost the courage, hoping she wouldn’t read the note I slipped inside until after our date.

She blinked at it, then back at me. “Michael, this is…” Her fingers brushed the paper wrapping, soft and careful. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” I said, and meant it.

By the time our mugs sat empty and the flowers rested in her lap, I’d almost forgotten we were on a first date. The conversation had slipped past the small talk hours ago. Somewhere between her laugh about burning pancakes as a kid and the soft way she described wanting a front porch with rocking chairs one day, I realized how easy it was with her.

We talked about everything—family, careers, dreams that felt too big to say out loud.

“I want a big kitchen,” she admitted, eyes bright as she stirred the last of her latte. “Not just for me, but… I picture kids running around, maybe a dog under the table waiting for scraps. I want it loud, messy, lived-in.”

Something tugged at me. “I’ve always wanted that too,” I said, surprising myself with how quickly the words came. “I want the kind of house that feels like home before you even step inside. A place people want to stay.”

She smiled then—small, knowing. “You’re not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

She tilted her head, teasing. “The quiet guy from the library? I figured you’d talk about books and exams and maybe the weather.”

I grinned. “Well, I can still throw in a weather update if you want.”

Her laugh was the kind that made me want to bottle the sound and keep it.

When the shop lights dimmed for closing, neither of us moved. We lingered, trading glances, both unwilling to let the night end. I finally cleared my throat.

“So… I don’t want to sound pushy, but… would you maybe want to do this again?”

She raised a brow. “You mean coffee?”

“Dinner,” I corrected, heart thumping. “Or… I heard there’s a little outdoor concert in the park Friday night. Live music, string lights, all that. I thought of you.”

Her fingers traced the rim of her cup. “Music, huh? You’re already learning the way to my heart.”

“Is that a yes?”

Her smile widened. “It’s a yes.”

I walked her back to her dorm, and when we said goodbye, there was no kiss, just the promise of one—hanging in the space between us, waiting for its moment.

And for the first time in a long time, I couldn’t wait for Friday.

Chapter 4
"I Thought Of You - Elise"

I kicked my closet door shut with my heel, cell phone tucked between my shoulder and my ear as I sifted through hangers.

“I’m telling you, Claire, it was—God—it was perfect.” My voice came out breathless, like I was still riding the high of Friday night. “We sat in that coffee shop until they practically kicked us out. And it wasn’t awkward, not once. He listens, like really listens. And he laughs at my stupid jokes. Do you know how rare that is?”

Claire’s laugh rang warm through the receiver. “Elise Parker, you sound like you’ve been hit by a bus.”

I grinned, tugging at a blouse and discarding it onto the bed. “A bus named Michael.”

“Uh-huh. And what does this Michael look like? Tall, dark, handsome? Or tall, nerdy, awkward?”

I snorted. “He’s… tall, yeah. Dark hair. Not awkward, though. Quiet at first, but once he starts talking, it’s like—like he forgets to hold back. It’s kind of charming.”

“Charming, quiet, and tall,” she repeated, like she was ticking off boxes. “Sounds suspiciously close to your type.”

I rolled my eyes, but she couldn’t see it. “I don’t have a type.”

“Right. And I don’t have a thing for chocolate cake.” She paused. “I want to meet him.”

The sudden shift made me blink. “What?”

“You heard me. If you’re this smitten, then I need to meet the guy. That’s what best friends are for. We approve, we give the green light, we make sure he’s not secretly collecting shrunken heads in his dorm room.”

“Claire—” I laughed, shaking my head.

“I’m serious. If you’re already over the moon about him, then I want to see for myself. Maybe not today, but soon. You owe me that much, Elise.”

I chewed on my lip, staring at the heap of discarded clothes. “Okay. Soon. Promise.”

“Good.” She let the word hang a beat, then added more softly, “I’m happy for you, you know. You sound… lighter. Like you’re finally where you’re supposed to be.”

Something in her tone caught me, made me pause—but before I could untangle it, the clock on my nightstand blinked 6:15. My heart jumped.

“Crap, Claire, I’ve got to go—he’s picking me up in fifteen minutes and I’m still half-dressed.”

“Fine, fine. Go swoon over Mr. Charming. But call me after, details required.”

“You got it. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I ended the call, tossed the phone onto the bed, and stood in front of the mirror, nerves and excitement twisting together in my stomach. Tonight was the outdoor concert. String lights, music, the promise of something more.

And I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this alive.

I tossed my phone onto the bed, then immediately grabbed it again. No way was I risking showing up overdressed if this was some punk-rock festival in disguise.

A few clicks later, the event page loaded: Fall Fest in the Park – Local Bands & Food Trucks.

I scrolled down the lineup. Indie-folk duo. Acoustic singer-songwriter. A soft rock band headlining. My lips curved. Perfect. Relaxed, romantic—exactly the kind of atmosphere I wanted for tonight.

I swung open my closet doors, biting my lip. I wanted effortless. I wanted confident. I wanted Michael’s eyes to linger, just for a moment, and know I had chosen this for him.

My fingers slid across hangers until they caught on a cropped white shirt with cap sleeves, fitted just enough to hug my figure without being too much. Paired with high-waisted dark jeans, it struck the exact balance I was looking for—cute with a hint of sexy, like I’d thought about it but not obsessed. My tan ankle boots would pull it all together, casual enough for grass and gravel paths but polished enough to give me height.

I laid the outfit across the bed, already picturing his reaction. He’d notice—I knew he would. He wasn’t the type to let little things slip by.

I gave myself one last glance in the mirror, smoothing my hair, adjusting my earrings. My hand brushed against the bracelet circling my wrist—the old leather cord with the tiny guitar charm. It was worn soft now, the knots fraying just a little, but I still slipped it on before I left. I told myself it was for luck, a silly habit I couldn’t shake.

But deep down, I knew it was more than that.

“Here we go,” I whispered to myself.

The sudden knock at my dorm room door made me jump. My pulse picked up instantly. Michael was here.

With one last look in the mirror, I swung the door open, trying to mask the nerves bubbling in my chest with a smile that felt steadier than I actually was.

Michael’s eyes landed on me, and for the briefest second, his easy confidence faltered. His gaze swept down, then back up, and the way his lips curved into a grin sent heat rushing straight to my cheeks.

“Damn,” he said, voice low and sure. “You look good.”

My confidence cracked just a little under the weight of his stare. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, biting back the ridiculous smile tugging at my mouth. “Thanks,” I murmured, softer than I meant to.

For a moment, neither of us moved, the air between us heavier than it should’ve been. Then he tilted his head toward the street, that grin still lingering. “Shall we?”

I nodded, slipping past him and letting the warm breeze steady me. Even with my head high and my steps sure, I couldn’t ignore the way my pulse raced just being next to him.

The smell of grilled meat and sugar hung thick in the air as we balanced paper plates between us, weaving through clusters of people sprawled across the grass. Music from the stage pulsed in the background—loud enough to feel, soft enough to still talk over.

We found a spot near the edge of the crowd, close enough to see the band but far enough away that we had our own little bubble. I bit into my taco, immediately dripping salsa down my wrist.

Michael smirked. “You’re hopeless.”

I tried to glare but ended up laughing. “Excuse you, this is what passion looks like.”

“Passion?” He raised a brow. “Pretty sure it’s just poor taco-handling skills.”

“Spoken like someone who ordered his plain,” I shot back, nodding toward his neatly wrapped, sauce-less taco. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“The fun,” he said, leaning back on his elbows, “is in not wearing half your dinner.”

I stuck my tongue out at him and wiped my hand clean with a napkin. “Some of us live dangerously.”

His grin widened. “Oh yeah? What’s your idea of dangerous? Ordering extra salsa? Crossing the street without looking both ways?”

“Ha, ha,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Dangerous as in… showing up to a second date with a guy who thinks he’s funny.”

He pressed a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “You wound me. Admit it—you’re charming.”

I tilted my head, pretending to consider. “Charming is a strong word…”

His eyes narrowed playfully. “Cute, maybe?”

“Borderline tolerable,” I teased, hiding my smile behind another bite of taco.

Michael leaned closer, his voice dipping low enough that I felt it more than heard it over the music. “You’re enjoying yourself though.”

It wasn’t a question. And when I looked up, the spark in his eyes made my stomach flip. I shrugged, trying not to give him the satisfaction of how right he was. “Maybe a little.”

He chuckled and leaned back again, looking impossibly smug.

Michael stole a fry off my plate before I could guard it, and I gasped dramatically.

“Unbelievable. You’re literally shameless.”

“Shameless?” He smirked. “No, this is strategy. I’m testing your fry-sharing compatibility. Very important for long-term relationship success.”

“Oh really? And what if I fail the test?” I challenged.

“Then…” He paused, pretending to think. “I guess I’ll just have to keep stealing them until you learn.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible to resist, you mean.” He winked, and I felt my cheeks heat up despite myself.

“Wow, confident much?”

“Confident, yes. Cocky? Only when I’m right.”

I gave him a playful nudge. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leaned back in his chair, still grinning, but his eyes softened a little. “Yeah, but you like it.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to cover the smile tugging at my lips. “Maybe a little.”

There was a pause then, not awkward—just charged. His teasing grin slipped into something more sincere as he toyed with the edge of his napkin.

“You know…” he said slowly, “I really like being with you, Elise. Tonight, last time at the coffee shop, the endless library study dates… all of it.”

The way he said my name made my stomach flutter. “I like being with you too,” I admitted, quieter than I meant to.

He smiled, and this time it wasn’t his playful grin—it was softer, almost nervous. “Good. Because I’d like to keep seeing you. Like… actually see where this goes. Not just fries and coffee dates, but more.”

I raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to keep the mood light. “Oh? More fries?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Yes, obviously. But also… more of this. You and me.”

I felt that warmth spread through me, the kind you can’t brush off. “Well,” I teased, “as long as you don’t eat all my fries, I think we can arrange that.”

The music lingered in the air as we left the park, our hands brushing until his fingers slipped easily between mine. It felt natural, like it had been waiting to happen all night. We didn’t need to talk much after that; the silence was warm, filled with the hum of the city and the leftover rhythm of the band.

By the time we reached the corner near my building, I could feel him watching me. When I looked up, he just smiled, that confident, easy smile that had a way of undoing me.

“You look good under streetlights,” he murmured.

Before I could come up with something clever, he leaned in. His lips met mine—soft, unhurried, as though he already knew I wasn’t going anywhere. I smiled into the kiss, tugging him closer by the hand still tangled with mine.

When we pulled back, I was breathless but laughing, the sound slipping out without permission. He grinned too, a little smug, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

We kissed again, slower this time, and the world seemed to blur around us. For a moment, it was just him and me, and the quiet certainty that this was only the beginning.

I slipped inside my dorm, leaning against the door for a moment with my heart still racing. My lips tingled where he’d kissed me, and I couldn’t wipe the ridiculous smile off my face even if I tried.

Everything felt lighter. The air, my steps, even the way I tossed my keys onto the table. I moved through the motions of getting ready for bed in a haze—shoes kicked off, makeup barely removed, hair thrown up.

When I finally climbed beneath the covers, I let out a little laugh into the dark, hugging my pillow. My mind replayed every detail—his smile when he saw me, the warmth of his hand around mine, the way he kissed me like he meant it.

I knew it was early, too early to feel this much. But I couldn’t help it. For the first time in a long time, I felt genuinely happy.

And I fell asleep with his name on my lips.

Chapter 5
"Claire, Meet Michael - Elise"

The next few weeks were a blur of little pings lighting up my phone. Every time Michael’s name popped up, I found myself grinning like an idiot.

Michael: When can I see you again?

I stared at the screen, rereading it twice before typing back.

Me: Hmm… depends. How much do you like canned green beans?

Michael: Not sure where this is going, but I’m intrigued.

I laughed, thumbs moving quickly.

Me: Claire and I are hosting a food drive on campus tomorrow at three. If you show up with a few canned goods, I might let you hang around.

A pause, then his reply lit up my phone.

Michael: So you’re telling me if I bring a couple cans of soup, I get to see you?

Me: That’s the deal.

Michael: Done. But I’m bringing more than soup. I plan to seriously impress you with my canned goods game.

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh too hard as I typed back.

Me: Oh yeah? What, like fancy olives?

Michael: Watch and learn, Elise. Watch and learn.

I tossed my phone onto the bed and hugged a pillow to my chest, unable to keep from smiling. He wanted to see me. He really wanted to see me.

The day of the food drive was buzzing from the moment Claire and I showed up. As we taped the last flyers to the bulletin board, I said, “I told Michael he could swing by if he wanted.”

Claire arched a brow, smirking as she balanced a stack of peanut butter jars. “Oh, the mysterious Michael. I was starting to think you made him up.” She side-eyed me. “Did you tell him we require canned foods as entry?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “He’s real, I promise. And, I’ll have you know, he plans to seriously impress us with his canned goods haul. I figured it might be nice for you to meet him. If he doesn’t get lost trying to find us.”

She grinned. “Doesn’t he go here? What do you mean, lost? Is he directionally challenged?”

“Completely,” I said, smiling at the thought. “Maps, GPS, road signs—none of it helps. But he’s… sweet. He tries.”

Claire tilted her head, studying me for a beat. “You like him,” she said, almost as if it were a revelation.

Heat crept up my cheeks as I started fidgeting with the guitar charm on my bracelet. “Well, yeah. I do. It’s still new, but… it feels like something, you know?”

She nodded, though there was a glint in her eyes I couldn’t quite read. “Then I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

We finished adjusting the bins so they’d be impossible to miss and set up our little table with handouts and sign-up sheets. People trickled in, arms full of cans, boxes of pasta, even a few jars of peanut butter.

It felt good—seeing it all come together. Claire was in her element, talking to everyone like she’d known them forever, while I explained where the donations were headed and why it mattered. We were busy, smiling and chatting, handing out little thank-you notes we’d made.

And then—he walked in.

Michael.

For a split second, the whole scene blurred. The chatter, the clink of cans, the squeak of the gym doors behind him—it all faded. My stomach flipped the same way it had the night of our date, and suddenly I was hyperaware of everything: the way he scanned the room, the crooked grin when he spotted me, the fact that he was actually carrying two grocery bags full of food.

Michael’s eyes locked on mine, and just like that, the noise slipped into the background. He walked straight toward me, that easy confidence in his step, grocery bags swinging at his sides. My heart picked up like it always did, and I prayed it didn’t show on my face.

“Delivery for the prettiest girl at the food drive,” he said, setting one of the bags on the table.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

He started pulling things out one by one, like he was unveiling treasures. “We’ve got canned corn—because who doesn’t need more corn in their life? A family-sized box of mac and cheese—comfort food, essential for survival. Oh, and look—three cans of beans. You can never have too many beans, Elise. They’re basically currency.”

I laughed harder than I probably should have, covering my mouth as he kept going, hamming it up like a stand-up comedian unpacking groceries. His grin widened every time I cracked, like he was cataloging each win.

“You really outdid yourself,” I said, shaking my head as I gathered the cans into the bin.

“All for a good cause,” he replied smoothly, and I couldn’t tell if he meant the food drive… or me.

Before my cheeks could burn any hotter, I grabbed his arm and tugged him toward Claire, who had just finished chatting with someone. “Claire,” I said, trying to sound casual but probably failing. “Meet Michael.”

Claire looked him over in that split second of introduction, then arched her brows at me before turning her smile on him. “So this is the famous Michael. I’ve got to say, Elise… you did well.”

Heat crept up the back of my neck. I forced a laugh, not sure what else to do with the comment. “Um, thanks?”

Michael laughed, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or embarrassed. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Claire’s grin widened, a touch mischievous. “You were supposed to.”

The moment stretched just a little too long before I cleared my throat. “Anyway… he has stuff to donate.”

“Good,” Claire said, finally tearing her eyes away from him, reaching for the bags. “I’ll take those.”

Michael chuckled, but I caught the way his smile flickered—half pleased, half unsure. And me? I just felt awkward, like I’d walked into a conversation that wasn’t entirely mine.

By the time the last donation was sorted and the bins were stacked, I was exhausted but buzzing. The food drive had gone better than we’d hoped, and Michael had stayed the entire time—chatting with people, carrying boxes, making dumb jokes to keep me smiling when my feet started to ache.

So when he suggested grabbing pizza, I didn’t hesitate. Claire was all for it, too.

The three of us crowded into a booth at a little pizza place downtown, the red vinyl seats squeaking every time someone shifted. I slid in beside Michael, with Claire across from us, and for a while, everything felt easy. Warm. Normal.

But by the time the pizza landed on the table, I started noticing things.

Michael and Claire had fallen into this rhythm—talking about professors they both knew, laughing over dorm horror stories, swapping dating mishaps like they’d been friends for years. I sat there, smiling and nodding, but the words blurred after a while, the laughter skipping right past me.

Claire leaned forward on her elbows, eyes bright. “Wait, so you really dated someone who made you watch The Notebook every Friday?”

Michael groaned, running a hand down his face. “Don’t remind me. I think I could recite that movie line for line.”

They burst out laughing together, and I forced a laugh too, but it felt thin in my throat.

I reached for my soda just to have something to do with my hands. This is good, I told myself. This is what I wanted—Michael and Claire getting along. My best friend and my boyfriend being comfortable around each other.

Still, there was this tug inside me, small but sharp. Like I was watching the scene from outside the glass, like I was the extra in my own night out.

Michael glanced over at me eventually, giving me a quick smile before turning back to Claire. And I smiled back, like it didn’t bother me. Like it wasn’t strange.

But the truth was, I couldn’t shake the thought: I was supposed to be the bridge between them. So why did it feel like I was the one sitting on the outside?

The pizza disappeared faster than I expected, and before I knew it, we were standing outside in the cool night air, saying goodbye.

Michael offered to drive, so Claire slid into the backseat while I sat up front with him. She kept the mood light the whole ride, cracking jokes about how much she was going to regret all the pizza when she had an early class in the morning. But when we pulled up in front of her dorm, she leaned between the seats, gave me a quick hug, and tossed Michael a smile that lingered a second too long before she hopped out.

After we dropped Claire off and pulled away from her house, the car went quiet for a while. Streetlights passed in glowing streaks across the windshield, and Michael drummed his fingers on the steering wheel like he was still wired from all the laughing.

Finally, he broke the silence.
“So… I really like Claire. She’s awesome. Funny, too. You weren’t kidding.”

I forced a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach my chest. “Mm-hmm,” I murmured, nodding as I stared out the window.

Michael glanced at me, brow furrowing. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. Then, after a beat, I added, half-laughing, “It just kind of seemed like you and Claire really hit it off. I felt like a third wheel most of the night.” I tried to keep it light, a joking lilt in my voice, but it came out thinner than I wanted.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “What are you talking about? You’re imagining things. We were just talking.”

“I know,” I said, still trying to laugh it off. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, it just—”

“Babe.” His tone sharpened, cutting through my words. “Seriously? You’re reading way too much into this. Claire’s your best friend. Don’t make it into something it’s not.”

The way he said it—firm, almost dismissive—made me shrink back against the seat. Heat crept up my neck, equal parts embarrassment and guilt. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was being dramatic, making mountains out of nothing.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I whispered, smiling faintly, like I was agreeing just to smooth things over. “I’m being silly.”

Michael’s shoulders relaxed instantly, his voice softening as if nothing had happened. “Exactly. Don’t stress about it.”

I nodded, but as I turned my gaze back to the window, that little knot in my chest stayed put, no matter how many times I told myself to ignore it.

The next day, I was back in my dorm, halfway through reorganizing my desk, when Michael texted:

Michael: Hey, what are you doing tonight?
Me: Nothing really. Just homework.
Michael: Mind if I come by? I wanna see your dorm. We could just hang out, order food, whatever.

I stared at the screen for a second, surprised. He hadn’t asked before—usually we met up on campus or went out somewhere. The idea of him in my little space felt… different. Personal.

When I hesitated too long, another bubble appeared.

Michael: Unless you don’t want me there?

That second message made my chest tighten. I hurried to type back.

Me: No, I do, come over.

Twenty minutes later, he was at my door, carrying a bag of takeout and grinning like he owned the place. He glanced around once he stepped inside—the twin bed, the string lights Claire had helped me hang, the stack of notebooks by my desk—and smirked.

“Cozy,” he said, dropping onto the bed like he’d been there a hundred times. “I could get used to this.”

I laughed nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. It was strange seeing him here. Strange, but also… nice. Like maybe we were starting to build something real.

Somewhere in the middle of our conversation, I realized he was just… watching me. That look again. The one that made me feel like I was the only person in the room, the only person that mattered.

My breath caught. “What?” I asked, laughing nervously.

“Nothing.” He stood, crossing the space between us. “You’re just… distracting.”

Michael leaned in suddenly, his lips pressing hard against mine. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that felt sweet or playful—it was heavy, urgent, almost like he had something to prove.

When he finally pulled back, I laughed breathlessly, trying to ease the tension. “So much for just wanting to see my dorm.”

The second the words left my mouth, his expression changed. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What? It was just a joke.”

“No, seriously.” His voice sharpened. “You think I came here just to get in your pants or something?”

My stomach dropped. “Michael, no. I literally never said that. Why are you lashing out?”

“Lashing out?” He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Wow. Okay. I guess if that’s how you see me, then—” He gestured vaguely toward the door. “Whatever. I’ll just leave.”

Before I could even form words, he was on his feet. The sound of the door slamming behind him echoed through the room, loud enough to rattle the picture frames on my desk.

I stood frozen in the middle of the room, my lips still tingling from the kiss, my heart pounding—not from passion, but from confusion. I hadn’t accused him of anything, hadn’t meant anything by my comment. So why did it feel like I was the one who’d done something wrong?

Michael

I slammed the door harder than I meant to, but at that point, I didn’t care. My pulse was still hammering, my jaw clenched so tight it ached. All because Elise had to make that little comment. Just a joke, she said. But it didn’t feel like a joke. It felt like she was accusing me of something I hadn’t even done.

Except, deep down, maybe I knew she wasn’t wrong to wonder.

I shoved my hands into my pockets as I walked down the hall, thoughts spinning. She always had this way of making me feel… cornered. Like I had to prove something to her. Like nothing I did was ever good enough. And the worst part was, I hated how easily she could make me feel small.

Without even thinking, I pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered over Claire’s name. I knew I shouldn’t—Elise would lose it if she ever found out. But Claire never made me feel like that. With her, I didn’t have to explain myself. She just got me.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I shot her a text: You up?

The reply came quick, like she’d been waiting. Yeah. Come over.

By the time I got to her dorm, she was already leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirk tugging at her lips like she knew exactly why I was there.

“What’s with the storm cloud?” she asked, stepping aside to let me in.

I dropped onto her couch, rubbing a hand over my face. “Elise. She… she said something, and I don’t know, it just set me off.”

Claire sank down beside me, tucking one leg under the other. “What did she say?”

“That I didn’t really come over just to see her dorm. Like I had some other reason.” I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “Like I’m just some guy who only wants one thing.”

Claire tilted her head, studying me. “And that bothers you because…?”

“Because it’s not true,” I snapped, then softened. “At least, I don’t think it is. I mean—I do care about her. I do. But sometimes she makes me feel like nothing I say or do is good enough.”

Claire didn’t say anything right away. She just reached out, resting her hand lightly on mine. “Or maybe she doesn’t see you the way you want to be seen.”

Something in my chest loosened at that, even though I knew I was playing with fire just by being here. But right then, I needed her reassurance more than I cared about right or wrong.

Her hand lingered on mine, warm, steadying. I should’ve pulled away, but I didn’t. Instead, I let the silence stretch between us, heavier with every passing second.

When I finally looked up, her eyes were already on me. Searching. Knowing.

“Michael,” she said softly, almost like a warning.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “What?”

Her lips curved, not quite a smile, more like she knew I was unraveling. “You know what.”

The air between us shifted. My pulse kicked up, the way it always did around her. She leaned just slightly closer—not enough to close the gap, but enough to make me hyperaware of how small it was.

For a split second, I thought—this is it. We were going to cross that invisible line we’d been dancing around since the night we met.

I tilted toward her before I even realized I was doing it. She didn’t move back. Her gaze dropped, flicked to my mouth.

“Are we really gonna do this?” she whispered.

Her words snapped me back, just enough for reality to come rushing in. Elise. The thought of her waiting in her dorm, probably still hurt from me walking out. My girlfriend. My safe choice. The one I was supposed to love.

I pulled back an inch, dragging a hand through my hair like that could scrub away what almost happened. “I—” My voice cracked, so I cleared my throat. “I shouldn’t.”

Claire leaned back slowly, her expression unreadable. For a heartbeat, I thought she looked disappointed, but then she gave a small shrug, like she’d expected it all along.

“Probably not,” she said lightly, though her tone carried weight. “But you wanted to.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because she was right.

Chapter 6
"I'm Sorry - Michael"

The next morning, my phone buzzed against the nightstand before I was even fully awake. Michael’s name lit up the screen.

Babe, I’m sorry. I overreacted. I never should have done that.

I stared at the words, my thumb hovering, my chest tight. Apologies from Michael were rare, and when they came, they always caught me off guard. A part of me wanted to cling to it, take it as proof that he was trying, that he cared enough to admit when he was wrong. But another part of me—the quieter, more cautious part—wondered if it would stick.

After a long pause, another bubble appeared.

But to be fair, you shouldn’t have said that.

There it was. The catch. The twist that shifted just enough of the blame onto me so I’d second-guess myself. My stomach knotted. I replayed last night in my head, the way his tone had sharpened out of nowhere, the way he’d stormed out like I’d accused him of something awful when I hadn’t.

Still, I typed back: It’s okay. I didn’t mean it the way it came out.

The moment I hit send, a wave of regret washed over me. Why was I apologizing when he was the one who’d left me standing there, stunned, in my own dorm room?

But then his reply came, quick and reassuring:

See? We’re good. I love you.

I exhaled slowly, letting my shoulders relax against the pillows. Maybe this was progress. Maybe him reaching out, admitting he’d overreacted, meant things could be different. I wanted to believe that. I needed to believe that.

Even if, deep down, a small voice whispered that the apology wasn’t really about me.

After I set my phone down, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling. I wasn’t even sure when it happened, really—when Michael and I had officially become boyfriend and girlfriend. There was no big conversation, no clear moment where we decided. It just sort of… happened. One kiss turned into more, one late-night text turned into mornings together, and before I knew it, we were us.

Sometimes I wondered if that was enough. If slipping into a relationship without ever really naming it meant something was missing from the start. Because even in moments like this—when he apologized, when he said he loved me—I couldn’t shake the flicker of doubt in my chest.

Michael could be sharp, defensive, unpredictable in ways I didn’t always understand. But then there were the other moments too—the ones where he pulled me close, where he made me laugh until my stomach hurt, where he made me feel like maybe I really was worth choosing.

And the truth was, despite the doubts, despite the questions I sometimes didn’t want to ask myself… I did love him. I loved him in a way that made it easier to forgive, easier to smooth over the rough edges, easier to believe that we were building something real.

Maybe that was enough.

Michael

I didn’t think much more about the argument after I hit send on the apology. Elise would come around—she always did. I’d figured out early that all it took was the right words, the right tone, and she’d soften. She wanted to believe in me. Needed to, maybe. And I couldn’t say I minded letting her.

The truth was, I didn’t even feel like I’d done anything wrong. She’d made a jab, I’d defended myself. That was normal. Couples fight. At least that’s what I told myself. And anyway, it was already behind us. No use dragging it out.

But still… when my thoughts wandered, they didn’t land on Elise the way they should have. They drifted back to Claire.

The way she looked at me last night, like she actually saw me. Like she got it—the pressure, the constant need to be what everyone else wanted. With Claire, it was easy to let the mask slip. I didn’t have to perform. She knew me. Maybe too well.

And yet, Elise… Elise was steady. Safe. She was the kind of girl you built a life with. The one who wanted a future, who saw me as something solid instead of a mess of indecision. Sometimes I wondered if that was why I held on so tightly—because she made me believe I could be the man she thought I was.

But with Claire… it was different. Deeper in a way I couldn’t explain. Dangerous, maybe. She lit something in me that Elise never quite reached, something I wasn’t sure I even wanted her to.

I leaned back, scrubbing a hand over my face, torn between the pull of comfort and the spark of temptation. I knew I had to choose—one day, sooner or later. But for now, I told myself it was fine. For now, Elise believed in me. And Claire… well, Claire wasn’t going anywhere either.

Chapter 7
"The Secret Meeting - Claire"

It was late when I typed the message, the words glowing on my screen: Hey, any chance you could swing by? I just… want someone to talk to.

I hovered over send longer than I should have. I knew better. God, I knew better. But I pressed it anyway.

The three blinking dots appeared almost immediately, and my stomach twisted. He shouldn’t answer this quickly. He should pause. He should hesitate. But the reply came fast, too fast.

Yeah. Be there in ten.

I stared at the words, my thumb frozen against the phone. That was it? No questions, no excuses? No should I? No what about Elise? Just yeah.

A part of me hated how easy it was for him to agree. A bigger part hated how much relief washed over me when he did.

When the knock finally came at my door, I already knew I was in trouble.

I opened the door before he could knock again. He stood there in a hoodie, hair a little messy, hands shoved into his pockets like he was trying to look casual. My heart did that stupid flutter thing I kept telling myself to ignore.

“Hey,” I said softly, stepping aside to let him in.

“Hey.” His eyes darted around like he wasn’t sure if this was a good idea. But he still crossed the threshold.

We settled on the couch, a safe cushion of space between us. I picked at the hem of my sleeve, pretending to wrestle with words I hadn’t prepared. Really, I just wanted him here.

“So,” I said, glancing at him, “what made you actually come?”

His eyebrows flicked up like he hadn’t expected me to ask that. He leaned back, exhaling slowly. “I guess… you were there for me when I needed somebody. Thought maybe I could return the favor.”

The way he said it made something tug in my chest. I smiled faintly, looking down. “Guess I wasn’t really lying when I said I needed someone to talk to. I’ve just been… stressed. School, life, everything piling up. You know how it is.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Believe me, I get that.”

For a moment, we just sat there in the quiet. It wasn’t uncomfortable—at least not for me. It was the kind of quiet that pressed close, the kind that made me hyperaware of the way his shoulder was just inches away.

“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head with a little laugh, “maybe I just missed talking to you.”

That got his attention. His gaze cut toward me, sharp but unreadable, and for a second I wondered if I’d gone too far.

I swallowed and tried to recover. “I mean… you’re easy to talk to. That’s all.”

He gave me a look like he didn’t entirely believe me, but he didn’t call me out on it either.

Michael leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up his arms. He was quieter than usual, and it gave me the courage to break the silence.

“So…” I started, twirling a strand of hair around my finger, “do you ever think about… where you’re actually going? Like, not just school, but… life?”

He chuckled softly, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “All the time. Doesn’t feel like I’m figuring it out, though.” He glanced at me, then away. “Sometimes I think I just make it up as I go, you know? Hope nobody notices.”

I tilted my head. “I don’t think anyone has it figured out. At least you don’t pretend like you do.”

He looked at me differently then—like he wasn’t expecting me to say that. For a second, it felt too personal, like I’d pulled a thread he wasn’t ready for me to tug. But he didn’t pull away.

Instead, he asked quietly, “What about you? What do you want?”

The question sat heavy. I wanted to say something about med school or internships, the polished answers I gave my parents. But here, with him, I felt like I could tell the truth.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I just… want to feel like I matter to somebody. Like, really matter.”

His gaze lingered on me, longer than it should have. I could feel my cheeks heating under the weight of it, and I looked down at my hands.

That’s when his phone buzzed against the cushion between us. I caught Elise’s name flash across the screen. My stomach twisted, guilt slamming into me before I even realized why.

He glanced at it, jaw tightening, and then he flipped it face-down without opening it.

I pretended not to notice, but my chest felt tight.

We kept talking after that—about stupid camp stories, about songs stuck in our heads, about everything and nothing. But underneath it all was this pull, something neither of us wanted to name.

Elise

Later that night, I lay awake staring at my phone, watching the little word delivered under my message to Michael. It never changed to read. I turned the screen off, turned it back on, waiting.

And waiting.

The silence pressed in until I finally opened a new chat and typed to Claire: Hey, you awake? Michael’s not answering me. And I feel weird about it.

I stared at that message too, thumb hovering over send like it might be a betrayal somehow. But I hit it anyway. Claire was my best friend—if anyone would understand, it would be her.

I set the phone down, tried to breathe, but my thoughts spiraled. Was our connection really as strong as I thought? Or was I just holding on tighter than he ever wanted me to?

I picked my phone back up. No reply from Michael. No reply from Claire.

By morning, I told myself, it wouldn’t matter. He’d text me like nothing happened. That was just how he was—distant one day, close the next. And Claire… she’d probably just slept through my message.

Still, the pit in my stomach never really went away.

Chapter 8
"Good Morning - Elise"

I blinked against the sunlight streaming through my curtains, stretching lazily before reaching for my phone. No new messages. I frowned a little, more out of surprise than disappointment. Michael usually texted me first thing. Maybe he’d slept in.

I shrugged it off, padded across the room, and started getting ready for the day. Coffee in hand, notebook in my bag, I told myself not to think too much about it. People got busy. Things came up. Still, after a few hours of being awake, the silence from him pressed a little heavier against me.

I glanced at my phone again, thumb hovering before I finally typed out a quick message:

Good morning.

Simple. Light. Not needy. Just my way of saying I was thinking of him. I hit send and slipped the phone back into my pocket, trying to focus on anything else.

But I couldn’t shake the tiny knot of worry sitting low in my stomach.

All morning, I kept checking my phone. Every buzz made my heart jump. But it was just emails, reminders, group chats—everything except Michael. When his name finally lit up my screen, my stomach fluttered with relief, only to sink just as quickly.

Hey.

That was it. No smiley, no playful jab, no sweet nickname. Just… hey.

I stared at the word longer than I should have, chewing my lip. He wasn’t usually like that. Normally, he’d tease me about being a late sleeper or ask what kind of coffee I was drinking—something to make me smile. But this? This felt… off.

Still, I forced myself to play it cool. No need to spiral over one text. Maybe he was busy. Maybe finals were already getting to him. I typed back, light and casual:

Hey yourself. Rough morning?

My finger hovered before I hit send. It wasn’t quite calling him out, but it opened the door if he wanted to explain. After sending it, I set my phone face down on the table, trying to ignore the uneasy tug in my chest.

Minutes passed before my phone buzzed.

Yeah, just a little tired. Didn’t sleep great. Sorry if I’m off.

Believable. Almost too believable. I frowned at the screen, thumb brushing against my coffee cup. He sounded normal enough… but not quite.

I pushed a smile onto my face anyway and typed:

Wanna go to Cello’s for breakfast today?

I didn’t want to seem clingy, but I also didn’t want to let that weirdness slide.

Another pause. Then—

Sure. Looking forward to it.

The right response. Sweet. Reassuring. Almost enough to ease me. Almost. But as I tucked my phone into my bag and headed out for the day, I couldn’t shake the prickle of doubt at the back of my mind. Something about Michael’s words felt… measured, like he was putting on his usual charm instead of just letting it flow.

Michael

The diner smelled like bacon and coffee, the kind of cozy mix that usually set me at ease. Elise was already there when I walked in, waving me over with that easy smile of hers. The same smile that had hooked me months ago. The same smile I didn’t deserve right now.

“Hey,” I said, sliding into the booth across from her. My voice came out smooth, casual—like nothing was wrong. I’d practiced that tone in my head on the way over, trying to bury everything else under it.

“Hey yourself,” she teased, handing me a menu I didn’t even glance at. “Thought maybe you overslept.”

I chuckled lightly, leaning back. “Nah, just dragging a little this morning. You know how it is.”

She laughed, nodding, and just like that she bought it—or at least she let me think she did. She started talking about finals, about how exhausted she was, and I smiled in all the right places, asked the right questions, kept my focus trained on her like I always did.

But underneath, guilt gnawed at me, sharp and relentless. Every time her eyes lit up, every time she brushed her hair back and leaned forward across the table, I felt that heavy stone drop deeper in my chest. If she only knew where I’d been last night. What I’d done.

I stirred cream into my coffee, slow, careful, anything to give my hands something to do. Elise was telling me about an assignment she didn’t want to do, her voice animated, her hands sketching the air like she couldn’t keep still, and I forced myself to laugh at the right moments. On the outside, I probably looked like the same Michael she knew—the same one she trusted.

But inside, I felt split clean in half. One half wanted nothing more than to keep this going, to keep Elise smiling across a booth at me, to pretend I hadn’t crossed an invisible line. The other half couldn’t stop replaying last night—the comfort Claire provided, the sound of her voice, the way I’d let myself give in if the opportunity arose.

I hated myself for it. Hated the way I could sit here across from Elise, nodding and smiling, while the memory of Claire was still seared into my skin.

Elise reached across the table suddenly, brushing her fingers over mine, and my chest squeezed so tight it hurt. I laced my fingers with hers, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, trying to pour every ounce of reassurance into that one small gesture.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

I smiled—small, practiced, steady. “Yeah. Just tired.”

It was a good lie. Smooth. Believable. But even as Elise returned my smile, warm and trusting, the guilt inside me whispered that it wouldn’t stay hidden forever.

Elise

Michael smiled at me, his fingers wrapped around mine, warm and steady, but something about it felt… off.

“Yeah. Just tired,” he said, and I nodded like I believed him. Like I wasn’t cataloging every little detail—his bloodshot eyes, the way he stirred his coffee too long, the faint distance in his smile.

I wanted to take his word for it. God, I wanted to. But the pit in my stomach wouldn’t let me. Just tired. That’s what he always said when he shut down, when he disappeared behind that wall I could never seem to climb.

And maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was finals stress, or lack of sleep, or just Michael being Michael. But sitting there, watching him across the booth, I couldn’t shake the nagging thought that I was on the outside of something I didn’t understand.

So I squeezed his hand back, just as soft, and smiled as if I was convinced. Because if I questioned it—if I questioned him—I was scared of what I might find.

Instead, I took another sip of coffee, let the silence stretch, and told myself what I always did: It’s fine. He loves me. This is just how he is.

But deep down, the doubt wouldn’t stop whispering.

Chapter 9
"Regrets - Elise"

I woke up to sunlight cutting across my dorm room, warm against my face. For a second, I forgot where I was—until I shifted and felt the empty space beside me.

Michael’s side of the bed was cold.

I sat up slowly, brushing the hair out of my face, squinting at the clock. A little after nine. My chest tightened in this small, familiar way. He must’ve left early. Maybe he had class.

Still, he hadn’t said goodbye.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand, blinking against the brightness of the screen. No new notifications. No good-morning text. Nothing to explain why he wasn’t here.

I tried not to let my mind run. Tried not to picture him storming out like he had the other night, or shutting me out for reasons I could never seem to understand.

Instead, I forced a smile at my reflection in the mirror across the room. Don’t be clingy, Elise. Don’t be needy.

But the truth was, I’d gotten used to falling asleep next to him, to the sound of his breathing steadying mine. And waking up alone like this… it left me with a hollow ache I couldn’t quite name.

I told myself he’d text soon. He always did, eventually. And when he did, it’d be like nothing was wrong at all.

I sat there with my knees pulled up to my chest, staring at the spot where Michael had slept just hours before. My phone was still silent, still empty. And for reasons I couldn’t quite explain, my mind wandered somewhere it hadn’t in a long time.

James.

It hit me in little flashes, like sunlight through trees: his laugh echoing across the campfire, the way he’d sit next to me during free time and pretend to be too focused on carving sticks to notice when my knee brushed his. The nights we’d walk down to the dock, skipping rocks until the counselors herded us back in.

And that last summer, the bracelet. The way he’d slipped it onto my wrist like it wasn’t anything big, even though it felt like everything. I still had it—worn, fraying, but wrapped around my wrist as it had been since he gave it to me.

James never made me guess how he felt about me. Not really. Even in our silence, even in the things we never said out loud, there had been a certainty to him. A warmth I never had to second-guess.

With Michael, it was different. One moment, I felt like I was the only person in his world. The next, I was staring at a cold pillow, wondering if I’d said something wrong, if I’d pushed too hard, if maybe I was just too much.

I swallowed, trying to push the thought away. James was the past. Michael was here now. And I loved him. I did.

But sometimes, when the doubt crept in like this, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d traded something steady for something that could slip through my fingers at any moment.

It came back to me sharper this time—not just the blur of summers stacked on top of each other, but one night in particular.

We were sixteen. It was late, the kind of late where the whole camp seemed to hum with crickets and the air smelled like pine and leftover smoke from the fire pit. James and I had snuck down to the dock, claiming we couldn’t sleep, though we both knew it was just an excuse.

The lake was glassy, the moon laying a silver trail across it. James sat beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed. He tossed a pebble into the water, sending ripples out across the perfect reflection.

“You ever wonder,” he said, voice low, “what it’ll be like when we’re not here anymore? When we’re too old for this place?”

I laughed softly. “Don’t remind me. I want to believe I’ll be here forever.”

He turned to look at me then, and the air between us shifted. My stomach flipped in that dizzy, terrifying way. His eyes lingered on me, and for half a second, I thought—no, I knew—he was going to lean in. My heart was in my throat, everything in me screaming not to move, not to ruin it.

And then—

“James! Elise!” A counselor’s voice cut through the night, sharp and tired. “Back to the cabins, now.”

We sprang apart like guilty kids caught stealing candy, laughter bubbling up to cover the silence. James grinned, shaking his head. “Guess the universe isn’t on our side.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to play it cool, but my cheeks were burning. I wanted to ask him what would’ve happened if we hadn’t been interrupted. I wanted to know if he’d really been about to kiss me.

But I never did.

That memory clung to me even now, years later. The night of the almost. The moment that slipped away.

My fingers found the bracelet around my wrist without me realizing it, tugging lightly at the little guitar charm that James had given me on our last summer together. The metal was worn smooth by years of fidgeting, but it was still there, still solid, when so many other things had faded.

We sat on the dock, in silence for a while. Then James cleared his throat and pulled something from his pocket. “I, um… wanted you to have this.”

It was a leather cord bracelet, clumsy and uneven, the kind of thing someone made at arts and crafts but actually put thought into. A small metal guitar charm was tied into the middle—not perfect, but clearly chosen for me.

I blinked, caught off guard. “You made this?”

He shrugged, looking suddenly shy. “Yeah. I figured you’d… you’d take it with you. So you don’t forget camp. Or me.” His voice softened. “Don’t forget me, okay?”

The words landed heavier than I expected. My chest tightened, and I had to swallow before answering. “I won’t.”

I wondered sometimes if he ever thought about me the way I thought about him. If all those moments out on the dock meant as much to him as they had to me. Or if I was just holding onto a ghost of something that never really existed.

The bracelet felt heavier then, like it carried more than just memories of campfires and cabins. It carried the version of me that had felt seen, steady, safe—even in the silence.

I pulled my sleeve down over it, hiding it from the world, but not from myself.

Chapter 10
"Besties and Brunch - Elise"

Claire slid into the booth across from me, her sunglasses still perched on top of her head even though we were indoors.

“You look good,” she said with that practiced smile, setting her bag down beside her.

“Thanks.” I stirred my coffee. “You too.”

We ordered, made small talk about finals, about the weather, about how the café always over-toasted the bagels. It was easy, the way it always was with Claire, but underneath I felt this buzzing tension in my chest.

I finally set my mug down. “So, Michael stayed over last night.”

Claire’s eyebrows flicked up almost imperceptibly before she caught herself. “Oh, yeah?” she asked casually, tearing open a sugar packet.

“Yeah.” I twisted the bracelet on my wrist, suddenly aware of how much I was fidgeting. “It was fine—I mean, sweet, actually. But then he left really early this morning. Didn’t even wake me up. I just—” I exhaled. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t know where we stand. Like, is he all in, or just halfway there, you know?”

Claire nodded, but her eyes darted down to her cup like she couldn’t hold mine for too long. “I mean, guys are weird like that. Maybe he just didn’t want to wake you.”

“Maybe.” The word felt heavier than I wanted it to. “It’s just… sometimes I wonder if I’m imagining things. If I’m asking for too much.”

“You’re not asking for too much, Elise. Not at all.”

Something in her tone—firm, but too quick—made me tilt my head, studying her. There was something in her expression I couldn’t quite pin down. Guilt? Sadness? I couldn’t tell.

But then she grabbed her fork and joked about how her omelet looked like it had been sat on, and I laughed, because that was what I always did with Claire: brushed off the weirdness, let things slide back into normal.

Still, as I sipped my coffee, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something underneath it all that I wasn’t seeing.

We drifted into easier conversation—laughing about old memories, retelling the story of when we got caught sneaking cookies from the kitchen, reminiscing about late-night drives back in high school with the windows down and music blasting. By the time the plates were cleared, I wasn’t thinking about Michael leaving early anymore. I wasn’t thinking about anything heavy at all. I was just sitting across from my best friend, full of pancakes and laughter, feeling like everything was exactly how it was supposed to be.

Michael

My phone buzzed against the desk, the vibration sharp in the quiet of my dorm room. I flipped it over, expecting Elise or one of the guys from class.

Instead, Claire’s name lit up the screen.

So, you and Elise were together last night?

The words hit me like a punch to the chest. My throat went dry, my stomach knotting instantly.

How did she know? Did Elise tell her? Of course she did—they were best friends. Elise probably couldn’t wait to share, couldn’t wait to glow about it. And now here was Claire, slipping into my phone like she slipped into every space she wanted to own, reminding me with eight little words that she was still here. That she still had a hold on me.

I stared at the message too long, pulse thudding in my ears. Guilt spread like fire under my skin.

I set the phone down. Picked it back up. Set it down again. My thumbs hovered between denial, deflection, and something dangerously close to confession.

Another buzz. Claire again.

Wanna talk?

My jaw clenched. Heartbeat uneven.

Sure… let’s talk, I typed back.

Later. My room, she shot back.

My stomach sank and twisted all at once.

The familiar scent of vanilla hit me as I entered her dorm. Claire sat cross-legged on her bed, twirling a pen between her fingers when I walked in. She looked up, all composed, like this wasn’t the mess it was.

“So,” she said, voice light but sharp underneath, “you were with Elise last night.”

I froze just inside the door, hands shoved into my hoodie pocket. “Yeah.” My voice sounded clipped, guilty.

She studied me, like she could see every thought I wasn’t saying. “And then… you came here.”

I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

The word hung between us like smoke.

“Michael, what are we even doing?”

I raked a hand through my hair, restless. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The weight of it pressed down, heavier than I wanted to admit. Elise’s name sat unspoken on both our tongues, but neither of us wanted to drag her fully into the room.

Finally, Claire said quietly, “You know she told me at brunch this morning that you left early. She thought it was… weird. She even said she wasn’t sure where you two stand sometimes.” Her eyes softened, like she hated herself for repeating it. “And I just sat there and told her not to worry.”

My stomach twisted. I hated myself more in that moment than I had the night before.

“Claire—” I started, but she lifted a hand.

“Don’t. Just… don’t.” Her voice was quiet, but firm. “I don’t even know what I want from you. Half of me feels sick about this, and the other half—” she exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “The other half doesn’t want to stop.”

I crossed the space, sat on the edge of her bed. “You think I don’t feel the same? Every time I’m with Elise, I feel… steady. Safe. Like I’m doing the right thing. But with you—” I broke off, pressing my palms to my knees. “With you it’s different. It’s like I can’t breathe until I see you again.”

Her gaze caught mine, and the pull was the same as always. Dangerous. Magnetic. Wrong.

“Michael,” she whispered. It sounded more like a warning than my name.

I leaned closer anyway.

When our lips met, it wasn’t tentative. It was deliberate.

Claire pulled back, breath uneven, eyes darting to the floor. Neither of us moved. The air was heavy, charged with everything we hadn’t said.

“Michael… we can’t keep doing this.”

The words landed like a punch. “Claire—”

“No, listen.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, steadying herself. “At the end of the day, Elise is still my best friend. And I can’t—” her voice cracked slightly, but she pushed through. “I can’t keep betraying her like this. I want to put her feelings first, because that’s what she deserves.”

My chest tightened. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t feel it every damn time I’m with her?” The edge in my voice wasn’t anger at her—it was at myself.

“Then you know this has to stop.”

The finality in her tone hit harder than I expected. But she was right. I’d been telling myself the same thing even as I kept finding excuses to come back.

“Claire…” My throat felt raw. “I don’t want this to end.”

“Neither do I,” she whispered, eyes glistening. “But if we care about Elise—really care—then we don’t have a choice.”

Silence pressed in. She looked away first, wiping quickly at her cheek.

I stood, shoving my hands in my pockets. “So that’s it?”

She nodded once, firm even though her lip trembled. “That’s it.”

I lingered in the doorway, desperate for something that would make her change her mind. Nothing came.

So I left.

The night air hit cold, stinging my face. Hood up, I started the walk back to my place, chest hollow, mind spiraling. I should’ve felt relieved—the decision made for me. Instead, all I felt was the ache of losing something I hadn’t even been allowed to have.

By the time I made it home, the guilt had doubled back, twisting tighter than ever. Claire was right—it was for the best.

But knowing it didn’t make it hurt any less.

By the time junior year blurred into senior year, it almost felt like Claire and I had been nothing more than a fever dream. Almost.

The truth was, I still felt the weight of losing her. Not losing her as a friend—I still saw her in the same circles, caught glimpses of her laugh across campus—but losing what could have been. Nights came when I caught myself wondering what if we hadn’t drawn the line. What if she hadn’t chosen Elise first. Every time, guilt twisted until I shoved the thought away.

With Elise, though, things were different. Better. I threw myself into us, into being the boyfriend she deserved. Flowers on random days. Study sessions that stretched late. Long walks across campus in the snow just because she liked the crunch under her boots. She glowed when she smiled, and I found myself addicted to keeping that glow alive.

She thought we were back on track, and maybe she was right. I was attentive. Sweet. Careful to smooth over every rough edge. And in her eyes, it worked. I could feel her trust in me growing again.

Claire was always there, though. Just outside the frame. Watching. Smiling when our friends smiled. Clapping when Elise shared good news. But sometimes I caught the flicker in her eyes, the way she’d glance away too soon. I pretended not to notice. Pretended it didn’t sting.

Life went on. Elise was happy. I was steady. Claire was distant. And for a while, that was enough.

Elise

It was strange, really—how different things felt now.

For so long, I’d gotten used to the rhythm of Michael’s distance: the quiet days, the unanswered texts, the pit in my stomach. But somewhere along the way—maybe after sophomore year, maybe later—something shifted. He wasn’t pulling away anymore. He was here. Fully here.

He’d show up with coffee before my late nights. Sit through long study sessions, scribbling in his own notebook but always glancing up to smile. On weekends, we went to the park, the movies, or nowhere at all—just staying in, tangled up on the couch.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. I felt steady. Secure. Loved.

I started daydreaming about the future. Apartments, jobs, what came after. And when Michael looked at me across the table, his eyes steady and warm, I believed in it. Believed in us.

Claire was still my best friend. She always had been. But her role in my life had quieted. We didn’t talk as much, but I told myself that was normal—people grew up, drifted. And with Michael, I didn’t feel the emptiness so sharply.

For once, everything felt like it was falling into place.

Claire

It’s funny, the way things change without you realizing it.

Elise and I used to talk about everything—every dumb little thought, every late-night worry, every boy we crushed on. Somewhere along the way, those conversations got shorter. Fewer. Until one day I realized weeks could pass and I barely knew what was going on in her life.

I told myself it was normal. People grow, drift, get caught up in their own worlds. But it stung all the same. Especially when I saw her with Michael.

From the outside, they looked perfect. He was attentive in ways I hadn’t seen before—bringing her coffee, holding her hand like it was second nature, smiling at her with that focused warmth that used to make my chest ache. Elise glowed under it. She deserved that.

But sometimes—walking past them on campus, or sitting nearby in the dining hall—I caught myself wondering what it would have been like if I hadn’t pulled back. If I hadn’t told him we couldn’t keep seeing each other. If I hadn’t chosen loyalty over what I really wanted.

Because the truth was, I still thought about him. Still replayed the nights we talked until we forgot the time. Still remembered the flip in my stomach the first time he kissed me, the way the air shifted.

Now, it was all what if. And what if is a cruel place to live.

I told myself I’d made the right choice—that I’d done the only thing I could do without breaking Elise’s heart.

But some nights, lying awake staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d broken my own instead.