NATHAN'S POINT OF VIEW
The office hummed softly around me, the remnants of last night's gala fading into the background. I was lost in thought, my gaze fixated on my phone, still showing the same picture I'd been staring at for who knows how long. It was an old one, almost a decade old, Isabelle, in her high-school uniform, her blonde messy ponytail bouncing as she laughed at something off-camera. She'd been just 15, full of life and mischief.
She used to laugh like that around me.
Why did I keep coming back to this image? I tell myself it's harmless, but deep down, I know it's more than that. I finally admit to myself that something feels off.
Days had passed without a word from Isabelle. No calls, no texts, not even a simple emoji or a snarky jab, nothing. It was unsettling. Even at her angriest, like that time I completely forgot her birthday, she'd bombarded me with voicemails. Now her silence felt deafening.
And I hated how much it bothered me.
Just then, a soft knock pulled me from my spiral of thoughts. I nearly dropped my phone in surprise.
"Come in," I managed to say, clearing my throat.
The door swung open, revealing Claire, my longtime assistant, her tablet in hand. She was organized and efficient, in her late thirties, and had a knack for sensing things before I even spoke them out.
She closed the door as if to block out the world.
"Nathan," she began, her voice low and concerned, "can I talk to you for a moment?"
I nodded, trying to shake off the weight of my distraction. "Sure. What's on your mind?"
"You tell me," she shot back, crossing her arms. "You've been staring off into space for three days now. Present but entirely absent. Something's bothering you."
I blinked rapidly. "No, really. I'm fine."
Her raised eyebrow suggested she wasn't buying it.
"Right," she replied dryly. "Sitting in your office, looking like the weight of the world's about to collapse… and you're 'fine'?"
I exhaled slowly, knowing I had to push back against this conversation. "Claire…"
She stepped closer. "Look, I'm not just your assistant. I'm a mother. I'm a wife. I've witnessed heartbreak, confusion, and emotional chaos in every form. I know when someone's carrying a heavy burden."
She tapped her tablet against her hip, her patience unwavering. "Let me help."
Running my fingers through my hair, I felt the walls crumbling around my reluctance. This was the last thing I wanted to hash out, but my resolve weakened.
"It's not about me," I lied, fumbling for an excuse. "It's about a friend of mine... He's going through something. I'm just… trying to figure out how to help him."
Claire shot me a look that suggested she was unconvinced. But still, she played along.
"Oh? A friend?" she prompted. "Tell me about him."
I swallowed hard. Alright. Let's keep pretending this isn't me.
"Well…" I began, careful with my words, "My friend has… a complicated situation."
"They always do," she muttered with an understanding smirk.
I ignored her quip, continuing. "There's this girl, she's his best friend's sister. He's known her forever. Always around, loud and dramatic, a constant presence in his life."
A small smile slipped onto my face despite my best efforts to suppress it. Isabelle had always been a hurricane of chaos.
"And then?" Claire pressed, leaning in with curiosity.
"And then he met someone else," I revealed, my voice tinged with reluctance. "A woman who's beautiful and kind, but also complicated. The catch? She's married. Off-limits."
Claire's expression softened at my words. "Oh boy."
"He's attracted to her," I admitted quietly. "But she belongs to someone else, someone who matters to him."
"Elena," my mind whispered, then quickly I shoved the thought aside.
"So the sister, his best friend's sister, confessed her feelings for him. Real, genuine feelings."
Claire tilted her head, gauging my intent. "And your friend doesn't feel the same?"
I hesitated, taken aback by my own uncertainty. "He's not sure. He's always seen her as a sister, or at least… he thought he did."
A breath escaped me, heavy with anxiety. "He didn't handle it well when she confessed. He didn't say the right things. Now she's gone quiet. Completely quiet."
Claire studied my face, her eyes searching for the truth behind my words.
"And now," I continued, feeling the pressure build, "my friend doesn't know what to do. The woman he's drawn to is married, untouchable. Meanwhile, the girl who wants him… he might've hurt her. Badly. Now she ignores him, and he's terrified it's too late to fix it."
Claire set her tablet down and leaned closer, her tone gentle but firm. "Tell your friend this: he needs to choose the one who troubles him the most."
I blinked in surprise. "Troubles?"
"Yes," she affirmed. "The one he thinks about when he shouldn't be. The one whose silence haunts him. That's the person he truly cares about."
I swallowed hard.
"Claire, but he doesn't see her that way…"
"Are you sure?" she pressed, her gaze unwavering. "Or is that just what he's convinced himself to believe?"
I found myself speechless.
"The married woman?" Claire continued, her voice steady. "That's a dead end. Even if something were to happen, it would only ruin her marriage and his friendship. No good can come of that."
I clenched my jaw, knowing she spoke the truth, and it frustrated me.
"But the other girl?" Claire's tone softens. "She's not off-limits. She loves him. Maybe he's just been too blind to notice what she truly means to him."
Blind.
The word struck a nerve, too close to my own reality. I looked away, grappling with the implications. "What if he's already pushed her away? What if she wants nothing to do with him now?"
"Then he needs to fix it," Claire said simply, her voice resolute. "It's not too late, but he has to act before he loses her for good."
She grips her tablet and strides to the door, pausing just before she leaves.
"And Nathan," she calls back, her hand resting on the knob, "sometimes the one we dismiss as 'just family' ends up being the person we can't live without. Tell your friend to stop running from the truth."
And with that, she slips out, leaving behind a silence that feels deafening.
I stare at the closed door, my gaze darting to my phone, then to the old photo of Isabelle resting on the table, the one that haunts him most.
Is it Elena? Or has it always been Isabelle?
Elena is stunning and sweet, no doubt about it. But this gnawing ache, this sharp twist of worry? It isn't about her.
It's about Isabelle.
The girl who has always been in my life.
The girl I don't hesitate to protect.
The girl whose confession slipped away like smoke.
A knot tightens in my chest.
I open her contact and press the call button.
Ringing.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Voicemail.
I hung up and hit redial.
Voicemail.
My throat feels parched. I tried again.
Voicemail.
"Come on, Isabelle," I pleaded softly.
"Please pick up."
Fourth time.
Fifth time.
Nothing.
A chill of panic creeps down my spine. She's never turned away from me like this. Not ever.
I pull up our message thread and type urgently:
"Isabelle, please, I need to talk to you."
I hit send.
The message was delivered in an instant.
I wait.
One second.
Five seconds.
Ten.
And then…
Read.
My breath hitches.
She read it.
She saw my name.
She saw my plea.
But no reply.
No dots.
No sign of her typing.
Nothing.
My heart sinks.
She's actively choosing silence.
Choosing to distance herself from me.
My fingers clamp around my phone.
"Does she hate me?" I whisper into the empty room.
"What did I do? Why does this hurt so much?"
Because I know why.
For the first time, it's painfully clear.
Losing her feels like losing a part of myself I didn't even know was there.
My phone buzzes, jolting me from my thoughts.
Isabelle.
A new message.
I open it instantly, and time seems to stop.
"Don't call me anymore, Nathan.
I need space.
Please respect that."
Air rushes from my lungs in a shattered exhale.
I read it again.
And again.
And again.
My hands shake.
She's not just upset.
She's cutting me off.
Completely. Purposefully.
Like I'm a source of pain she needs to escape from.
And maybe I am.
Slowly, I lower my phone, the weight of her words pressing down on my chest, heavy and suffocating.
I don't know what cuts deeper…
The silence that's stretched between us over these days …
or the fact that, when she finally reached out, this is all she had to say.