Ryker

It’s easier not to say things than to lose what you already have. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Every time I look at her, who’s been my best friend since we couldn’t understand calculus, who knows I hate onions in my sandwiches, who texts me “good morning” before anyone else does and “good night” last—I feel it. It’s not just the way her hair shines under the crappy cafeteria lights or the way her hand fits easily against mine when she drags me somewhere by the wrist. It’s more than that. It’s the comfort. It’s every moment we’ve built through inside jokes, late-night ramen runs, and study marathons. Do I love her? Yeah. I do. Did I ever mean to? Absolutely not. That’s what makes it impossible. Because once you admit it, you can’t take it back. And everything changes.