Toby sat on the couch, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers to his frustration. His friend, Ethan, leaned against the wall, watching him with a disapproving look.
"Why did you say that to your sister?" Ethan finally asked, breaking the silence.
Toby scoffed. "Say what?"
"You know what I mean," Ethan shot back. "Telling her you wouldn't take care of her when your parents are gone? You went too far."
Toby sat up, frowning. "Are you taking her side now?"
Ethan sighed. "No, I'm not taking sides. But you shouldn't have said that, Toby. She's your sister."
Toby ran a hand through his hair, irritation flickering across his face. "She acts like she doesn't need anyone. She pushes people away. What was I supposed to do?"
Ethan shook his head. "That doesn't mean you should push her away too."
Toby didn't respond. He just stared at the floor, his jaw clenched.
"You still care about her, don't you?" Ethan pressed.
Toby exhaled sharply. "I don't know, man. She's different now."
"Or maybe," Ethan said, his voice softer, "she's just lost, and no one's reaching out to her."
Toby looked away, but deep down, the words hit something inside him
The morning light filtered through my window, but I didn't want to move.
I had spent the whole night listening to my conscience, feeling the weight of my past mistakes press against my chest.
"Do you remember?" the voice spoke up again, gentler this time. "Your heart was never this cold before. Sometimes, it became really soft… softer than you'd ever admit."
I swallowed. I knew what it was talking about.
There were moments—rare, fleeting moments—when I cared. When I wanted to hold on to people, to cherish them. But every time I tried, fear always won.
I sat up, running a hand through my messy hair. "What are you trying to tell me?"
The voice didn't answer immediately. Then, with a knowing tone, it whispered, "You already know."
I exhaled slowly, shaking my head.
That's when my thoughts shifted to him.
The one person who never stopped making me feel something—no matter how much I tried to block it out.
My male friend.
Lately, he wouldn't even talk to me. Even when I tried.
"You're the one at fault."
That was all he said. Nothing more.
His words stung more than I wanted to admit.
Maybe… maybe I really was the problem.
I shut my eyes, but the voice refused to let me rest.
"You keep blaming everyone else, but do you remember what you did?"
A heavy weight settled in my chest. Of course, I remembered. How could I forget?
It all started with that one moment—the teacher sending the latecomers outside.
I was inside the classroom, watching as the teacher asked for names. Without thinking, I mentioned him. Maybe I was annoyed. Maybe I just wanted to tease him. But when I saw the way he looked at me, as if I had betrayed him, something inside me twisted.
I tried to apologize, but he didn't accept it.
Instead, he forgave her.
The girl who had also been at fault. The girl who had stood beside me that day.
But not me.
With me, he held a grudge. A painful, unshaken grudge.
"And then what did you do?" the voice prodded.
I bit my lip, not wanting to answer.
"You ignored him."
I clenched my fists.
"You acted like it didn't hurt you, but deep down, you hated it."
I did hate it.
I hated how easily he forgave her.
I hated how he refused to talk to me.
I hated how I tried again and again, only to be met with his silence.
And then the rumors started.
They said he liked her—the other girl.
The one I had fought with.
I told myself I didn't care. But every whisper, every glance between them felt like a knife to my chest.
So I fought back the only way I knew how.
I tried to make him jealous.
I laughed a little too loud when I spoke to other boys. I pretended to be unaffected. I made sure he saw me happy, even when I was breaking inside.
"Did it work?" the voice asked.
I scoffed.
"No."
Because in the end, I wasn't fooling anyone.
Not even myself.