For months, they continued their friendship like nothing was wrong.
But Timi sensed the change before anyone else.
Her smile felt… lighter, as if it was only half real.
She canceled plans more often.
Her phone buzzed at strange hours, and she always looked away before checking it.
Sometimes when they talked, her mind drifted somewhere far from him.
Timi didn't want to ask questions.
He was afraid of the answers.
But truth has a way of finding its own voice.
One Friday afternoon, Timi waited for her by the school gate. They agreed to walk home together, but she wasn't picking up his calls. He waited ten minutes… then twenty… then thirty.
He finally gave up and started walking home alone, disappointment sitting heavy on his shoulders.
And then—
as he turned a corner—
he saw her.
She was standing at an ice-cream shop, laughing—really laughing—the kind of laugh she hadn't given him in weeks. Her hand was intertwined with another boy's, and her head rested comfortably against his shoulder.
Victor.
Timi froze on the sidewalk.
His breath stalled.
It felt like someone pressed pause on his heartbeat.
It wasn't the fact that she was with someone.
It was the fact that she hid it.
It was the fact that she let him hope… while knowing his hope had no place to land.
He walked away quietly, each step feeling heavier than the last.
Some truths don't need to be spoken.
They hurt just by being seen.