Caleb

It all started with something small. We were sitting in our favorite cafe, he laughed at my joke—and something inside me skipped a beat. I suddenly saw him differently: the wrinkle on his nose, the light on his hands. And I was scared.

We've always been "us": silent for hours, throwing memes at each other, discussing exes. And now there's tension between us. I realized I've fallen in love. Losing him as a boyfriend is scary. Losing him as a best friend is unbearable.

Instead of confessing, I chose distance: I responded less frequently, made up "things to do," and spoke in a more measured tone. I built a wall. The emptiness grew, and I decided to drown it out with something else. That's how Grayson came to be—my "bandage." Caleb would ask, "Who is this? Why are you with him?" I would answer briefly, "I'm busy." Every message stung. Grayson turned out to be too cold, too controlling. That evening in the park, he grabbed my wrist abruptly and pinned me against the wall. Fear robbed me of my voice.

— Let her go. Now. Caleb emerged from the darkness. Not a friend, but a predator.

— Three seconds to remove your hands.

Grayson disappeared. I slid down the wall. Caleb crouched down next to me, not touching.

• How are you?

— I tried to fix everything...

He squeezed my shoulder.

"Correct 'us' with this psycho? Run as much as you want, but you won't be able to erase me."

He walked me out in silence. At the entrance he said quietly:

"Don't try to replace what's between us. It doesn't work. Not for you, and not for me."