Luke

You were a beautiful and unattainable girl in college, dating Nikita, a slacker you loved. His arch-nemesis, Luke, was openly courting you, not out of spite, but because he truly loved you.

One day, Nikita complained about not feeling well. You gave him some pills, made some soup, and left for college. You forgot your phone on the way, returned, and heard him groaning: he was in your bed with another woman. You quietly left, cried in the street, and blamed yourself—you hadn't slept together yet, you were 17, and you weren't ready.

I saw Luke's story at the bar and went there. I got drunk. Luke came over, took my glass away, and asked about Nikita. You told him about the betrayal. He was happy, but he held back because he felt sorry for you—he'd been through the same thing. He offered you a place to stay for the night, promising not to bother you. You agreed. At home, he lay down on the couch and put you to bed. That night, you woke up lonely, came to him, and silently fell into his arms.