VOLUME I ‎ ‎ACT I ‎ ‎CHAPTER FIVE ‎Cracks in the Glass ‎(Part One)

VOLUME I

‎ACT I

‎CHAPTER FIVE

‎Cracks in the Glass

‎(Part One)

There’s a specific kind of silence that follows guilt—the kind that wraps around your ribs and squeezes just tight enough to remind you you’re hiding something important. I carried that silence with me into every room I entered that week. And it was beginning to weigh me down.

K was quieter too. Not cold. Not distant. Just… thoughtful. Watchful. Like he was trying to figure something out he hadn’t yet put his finger on.

On Tuesday, we went grocery shopping together. A normal thing. Something couples did all the time. But everything about it felt off.

He pushed the cart slowly while I walked beside him, occasionally grabbing a box or a bottle and tossing it in. Every now and then, I’d catch him watching me.

“You’re staring again,” I said, trying to smile.

He shrugged. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You.”

I swallowed. “What about me?”

He stopped in front of the cereal aisle and turned to face me fully. “You ever feel like someone is… too perfect?”

My heart stuttered.

“I don’t think I’m perfect,” I said, careful.

He nodded. “I know. But sometimes I feel like you’re always three steps ahead of me. Like you already know what I’m going to say before I say it.”

I laughed too quickly. “Maybe I’m just good at reading people.”

“Or maybe you’ve been reading me for a lot longer than I realized.”

That stopped me.

His eyes didn’t leave mine. And for a terrifying second, I thought he knew.

Really knew.

But then he reached for a box of cereal, tossed it into the cart, and said, “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

Back at his place, while he unpacked the groceries, I snuck into the bathroom and locked the door behind me. My hands were shaking.

I pulled out my phone and opened the hidden folder of screenshots.

Pictures of him at eighteen. Smiling at a party. Sitting on a bench with friends. Walking across campus. Random moments I had captured from social media posts over the years. Proof of how long I had loved him before he even knew my name.

I should have deleted them all.

I hovered over the folder. My thumb trembled.

But I couldn’t do it.

Instead, I closed the phone and splashed cold water on my face.

In the mirror, I didn’t see the girl he thought he loved. I saw the girl who had lied by omission. Rewritten history. Orchestrated fate.

And it was all catching up to me.

That weekend, his brother invited me to a bonfire. A few friends from high school were coming, and he thought it would be “nice to all hang out again like old times.”

I almost declined. But I knew better. Saying no would only make me look suspicious.

So I went.

And it was almost fun. Laughter. Marshmallows. Stories from a decade ago. But there was a moment, just one, that shifted everything.

His brother sat beside me, poking at the fire with a stick, when he said quietly, “Do you remember that first summer we were friends?”

I nodded, unsure where this was going.

“You were really curious about K even back then.”

I stiffened. “I mean, yeah. He was your older brother. It was hard not to notice him.”

“No, I mean… you asked about him. A lot. More than anyone else did.”

I didn’t respond.

He turned to me. “Why didn’t you just say you liked him?”

I looked into the flames. “Because I was fourteen. And he was eighteen. And that would’ve sounded insane.”

He studied me for a long moment. Then, finally, he nodded. “Fair enough.”

But something in his expression told me the conversation wasn’t over.

Not really.