I used to sit my ass down alone in my bedroom reminiscing on the old days when I didn't have to prove myself to the people around me.

Elise and I were supposed to be simple. Best friends since we were six. She was the one who held my hand at my parents’ funeral. I was the one who stayed up with her when her dog died. We shared everything—dreams, fears, even toothbrushes once when she forgot hers.

But somewhere between junior year and now, it changed. A look lingered too long. A hug lasted past comfort. One night, after too many truths spilled over wine we weren’t old enough to drink, she kissed me. Just once. Then pulled away, trembling.

'We can’t,' she said.

But we both knew we already had.

Now, standing at her bedroom window as rain taps the glass, I watch her pack a suitcase. She’s leaving for college in three days. And I still haven’t told her I love her. Not the friendly kind. The kind that keeps you awake. The kind that ruins lives.

She turns, sees me, and doesn’t look away.

'You came,' she says.

I swallow. 'I had to.'

The silence between us is heavy with everything we’ve never said. The clock ticks. The rain falls. And I know—this moment will define the rest of my life.