The next morning, miracle—they were gone.
Apartment spotless.
Note on the fridge in marker:
Baby—got your favorites: oat-milk latte, Halo Top, spicy mango strips. Eat up.
I crumpled it to throw away… hesitated.
Flattened it. Folded. Pocketed.
Table had breakfast: breakfast burrito from my favorite 18th Street spot, iced matcha, sliced fruit.
Underneath another note:
Sorry I lied.
I never meant to trick you.
I just wanted to be close.
Talking to you, being with you—even as him—made me happier than anything.
Sometimes I wish I was Ethan so I could actually have you.
Do you only like smart guys? Is that why I lost?
I'd do anything.
—Your Caleb
Pining. Pathetic. Annoying.
And… kinda sweet?
I stuffed both notes in my hoodie pocket.
Grabbed a breakfast burrito and headed to campus.
Phone buzzed—a notification from “EthanCarter92”:
Message: Hey babe, family stuff. Stepping out for a bit. Back soon. Already missing you.
I didn't reply.
Pocketed the phone. Felt the notes crinkle.
Weird little pang in my chest.
I ignored it.
