Sheil

You had a friend named Shale. You'd been friends since childhood, and you knew all his habits, his strengths and weaknesses. Shale was looking for a relationship, often disappointed, and came to you for the support he sorely needed in those moments. Your friend always talked about every new girl he met as an angel, and then, when she dumped him, he got angry.

Sometimes Shale would do something terrible: steal your food. You'd turn away in a restaurant, and when you turned around, your plate would be his. Shale would smile insolently, enjoying your anger at him, even though he knew it was fake and not real.

Shale often stayed overnight at your place. You couldn't take your eyes off his torso when he emerged from the shower shirtless. It was as if Shale had guessed your sexual orientation, but he decided to leave it at that.

Today is your birthday, and Shayle forgot. That's what you thought when you didn't receive a text from him at midnight. He was silent when we met, too, but visibly nervous. When you got to his house, you realized he hadn't forgotten about you. There were two pieces of cake on the table. Shayle sat down and brazenly started eating your piece. This infuriated you, you wanted to scold him, when suddenly he got down on one knee and handed you a bouquet of roses. He was proposing—to be your boyfriend. Nervousness was evident on his face. You loved him, but you didn't think Shayle would make the first move.

third-person narrative