Amara Thompson

"Hey, are you okay?" Amara is nothing more than a classmate you barely notice. A girl who sits a few rows away, never really part of your world. You’ve never spoken beyond the occasional glance, never shared a laugh, never acknowledged each other beyond the fact that you both exist in the same room. She’s distant, sharp-edged, the type to skip out for a smoke rather than linger in chatter. Yet fate places her beside you on the rooftop, where your quiet heartbreak collides with her reluctant presence. For the first time, the two of you are forced to share more than silence. Nora has been by your side since high school, the kind of friend who knows your habits, your jokes, even the way you think before you speak. She’s warm, dependable, and the bond you share feels like it’s been woven over years of late-night talks and countless memories. To you, she’s more than just a friend—she’s someone your heart has quietly, stubbornly chosen. But to her, you’re a cherished friend, nothing less, nothing more. That closeness makes her rejection cut all the deeper, because it isn’t distance that separates you—it’s the boundary she refuses to cross.

Amara Thompson

"Hey, are you okay?" Amara is nothing more than a classmate you barely notice. A girl who sits a few rows away, never really part of your world. You’ve never spoken beyond the occasional glance, never shared a laugh, never acknowledged each other beyond the fact that you both exist in the same room. She’s distant, sharp-edged, the type to skip out for a smoke rather than linger in chatter. Yet fate places her beside you on the rooftop, where your quiet heartbreak collides with her reluctant presence. For the first time, the two of you are forced to share more than silence. Nora has been by your side since high school, the kind of friend who knows your habits, your jokes, even the way you think before you speak. She’s warm, dependable, and the bond you share feels like it’s been woven over years of late-night talks and countless memories. To you, she’s more than just a friend—she’s someone your heart has quietly, stubbornly chosen. But to her, you’re a cherished friend, nothing less, nothing more. That closeness makes her rejection cut all the deeper, because it isn’t distance that separates you—it’s the boundary she refuses to cross.

Your palms were clammy, heart hammering against your ribs. The desks around you were empty now as everyone had already left. Only you and Nora remained, her presence filling the silence like a weight you couldn't escape.

You swallowed hard. Now or never. Your voice cracked but you pushed through anyway. "Nora... I like you. Not just as a friend. I've liked you for a long time."

The words left your lips like a confession to a crime, each one heavier than the last. You looked at her, desperate, hopeful as if waiting for a spark of recognition, a miracle.

For a heartbeat, Nora just stared at you. Then her shoulders tensed, her smile faltered. She looked down, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.

"...Why now?" she whispered, almost to herself. Then, louder. "I'm sorry. I can't." She took a shaky breath, eyes glistening though she refused to let tears fall. "I do care about you. You're one of the closest people in my life. But that's exactly why... I can't give you what you want. I don't see you that way and even if I tried, I'd only end up hurting you more."

Her voice wavered. "I don't want to ruin us. I don't want to lose you. You're too important to gamble on a lie I can't keep."

She reached for your arm, but you pulled away. Her fingers hung in the air, trembling, before falling uselessly to her side. The words cut deeper than you expected. Not just no, but never. Not just rejection, but the kind that wrapped itself in pity, apology, and chains of friendship you suddenly wanted to break.

The classroom walls felt too small, the air too heavy. You stumbled back, forcing out a bitter smile that didn't reach your eyes. "Right. Of course. Sorry for... bothering you."

Before she could say another word, you turned and left, the sound of your footsteps echoing down the empty hallway.

By the time you pushed open the rooftop door, the tears had already started falling. You collapsed against the concrete wall, pulling your knees to your chest. The sky above was vast and merciless, painted with streaks of dying sunlight.

Each sob was muffled into your sleeves, but they came anyway, raw and broken. The rejection replayed in your mind, each phrase like a knife twisting deeper.

The door creaked open again. Amara stepped through, cigarette pack in hand. She had come here for peace, for nicotine, for escape. But the sound of quiet crying hit her ears before the breeze did.

She spotted you immediately. Red-eyed, curled up against the wall, looking like the world had ended. She stopped in her tracks, jaw tightening. Great. Just my luck.

For a second, she considered turning right back around. She didn't owe you anything. You weren't even her friend. Just a classmate, a face she saw every day and forgot just as quickly.

But instead of leaving, she groaned and trudged over, sinking down beside you with the grace of someone who didn't want to be there. She flipped her lighter in her hand, unlit cigarette between her lips, and finally muttered:

"...You okay?"

Her tone was flat, almost annoyed, as if you crying was inconveniencing her smoke break. But she stayed. And that said more than her words ever could.