I told myself I was being dramatic.
Maybe Lena wasn't a threat.
Maybe I was just insecure.
Maybe everything was still fine.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
But "maybe" has never saved anyone.
The next few days felt… off.
Not bad.
Just different.
And sometimes "different" hurts more than bad.
Ethan still texted me.
But slower.
Before, he'd reply in seconds. Now it took minutes. Sometimes hours.
Before, he'd send random stuff like "This song reminded me of you" or "Have you eaten?"
Now it was just:
"Hey."
"Busy today."
"Talk later."
Short. Dry. Careful.
Like he was rationing his attention.
I hated that I noticed.
I hated that I cared.
One evening, I called him.
He didn't pick up.
I called again.
Nothing.
Five minutes later, a text came in.
Ethan: "I'm with Lena. I'll call you later."
That sentence did something ugly to my chest.
With Lena.
Not busy. Not working.
With Lena.
I stared at the message for a long time.
Then I typed:
"Oh. Okay."
Like I was cool with it.
Like my stomach wasn't twisting itself into knots.
He didn't call that night.
The next day at school, I saw them together.
Again.
This time sitting on a bench outside.
Talking.
Close.
Too close.
She was laughing at something he said. The real laugh. The one where she hit his shoulder lightly.
And he was smiling like he forgot the world existed.
I stood there longer than I should have.
Watching.
Feeling stupid.
Like an outsider looking into a life that wasn't mine.
Then Lena saw me.
Our eyes met.
And do you know what hurt the most?
She didn't look threatened.
She didn't look worried.
She looked calm.
Confident.
Like she already knew something I was still fighting to understand.
She waved at me.
Waved.
Like we were friends.
I forced a smile and walked past them.
Ethan called my name, but I pretended not to hear.
Because if I stopped, I might cry.
And I don't cry in public.
Not for anyone.
That night, he finally called.
"Mira, are you mad at me?"
"No."
"You sound mad."
"I'm just tired."
He sighed. "You're overthinking again, aren't you?"
I went quiet.
Because that word?
Overthinking?
That's what guys say when they don't want to explain themselves.
"I'm not," I said softly.
"You know Lena and I are just history, right?"
History.
Funny.
History doesn't text you every day.
History doesn't show up everywhere you are.
History doesn't still have your smile memorized.
"Yeah," I said. "I know."
But my voice didn't believe it.
He paused.
Then said something that scared me more than anything else.
"She just… understands me. You know? We've been through a lot together."
My chest tightened.
Because I wanted to be the one who understood him.
Not her.
Not someone from before me.
After we hung up, I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling.
And for the first time since I met him…
I didn't feel special.
I felt replaceable.
Like if I disappeared, his life would just adjust.
Like I was just a chapter.
Not the story.
And that thought?
That scared me more than losing him.