I should've left.
That was the first thought that crossed my mind as the bonfire burned brighter and the night grew louder.
Music echoed across the beach. Someone was shouting. Someone else was laughing.
Everyone was alive.
Everyone except me.
I sat on the old wooden log we'd claimed as ours years ago, a red plastic cup hanging loosely from my hand. The drink inside had long since gone warm, but I didn't remember taking a single sip.
My eyes kept finding her.
They always did.
Isabella stood near the fire, her white dress glowing gold under the flames. She looked like she belonged in this moment. Like she belonged in this town.
Like she belonged with him.
Adrian stood beside her, his arm brushing against hers like it had every right to be there.
He leaned down, whispering something in her ear.
She laughed.
God, I hated that I loved that sound.
I hated that it wasn't because of me.
"Man, you're staring again."
I looked up.
Jason dropped down beside me, his shoulder bumping into mine. He followed my gaze and sighed.
"You know that's torture, right?"
I forced a shrug. "I'm not staring."
He gave me a look that said he didn't believe me.
No one ever believed me.
Because everyone knew.
Everyone except her.
"You ever gonna tell her?" he asked.
The question hit harder than it should've.
I didn't answer immediately.
Because the truth was… I had imagined telling her a thousand times.
I imagined her looking at me like I was more than just her safety net.
I imagined her choosing me.
But imagination was a dangerous thing.
Reality was cruel.
"It wouldn't change anything," I said finally.
Jason didn't argue.
He didn't need to.
We both knew I was right.
"Daniel!"
Her voice cut through the noise.
My head turned before I could stop myself.
She was walking toward me.
Alone.
My heart betrayed me instantly, beating faster like it always did when she came closer.
She stopped in front of me, her eyes soft, familiar.
Comfortable.
She always looked comfortable with me.
That was the problem.
"Why are you sitting over here by yourself?" she asked.
I lifted the cup slightly. "I'm not."
She smiled faintly.
"You've always been a terrible liar."
I almost laughed.
If she only knew.
She sat beside me, our shoulders touching.
The contact sent a familiar warmth through my chest.
Dangerous.
Hopeful.
Stupid.
"I wanted to find you," she said quietly.
Those words meant more to me than they should have.
They always did.
"Why?" I asked.
She hesitated.
Her fingers traced the edge of her cup.
"I needed to tell you something."
My chest tightened.
For a brief, fragile second, hope slipped in.
Maybe.
Maybe this time would be different.
Maybe this time she'd choose me.
"I think… Adrian's going to ask me to be his girlfriend."
Hope died fast.
Quieter than I expected.
But just as painful.
I forced my face to stay calm.
Neutral.
Supportive.
The role I had mastered.
"That's good," I said.
The same lie.
Seven years later.
She studied my reaction carefully.
Like she was searching for something.
Something I couldn't let her see.
"You think so?" she asked.
Her voice was uncertain.
Why was she asking me?
Why did my opinion matter so much when my heart never did?
"Yeah," I said. "He's a good guy."
The words burned on the way out.
She looked relieved.
Relieved.
That was my purpose.
To make her feel better about breaking me.
She leaned her head gently against my shoulder.
My body tensed.
She didn't notice.
She never noticed.
"You'll still be here, right?" she whispered.
The same question.
The same fear.
Not fear of losing me.
Fear of losing what I gave her.
Stability.
Comfort.
Unconditional love.
She wasn't afraid of losing my heart.
She was afraid of losing my presence.
I stared at the fire.
At the flames slowly consuming everything they touched.
And for the first time…
I wondered what it would feel like to stop burning for her.
"I'm not going anywhere," I said.
But the words didn't feel as true as they used to.
She smiled.
Satisfied.
Safe.
She didn't know she was watching the last version of me who would ever say that.
Across the fire, Adrian was watching us.
His expression unreadable.
Like he already knew something I didn't.
Like he knew she wasn't really mine to lose.
Because she never had been.
And maybe…
She never would be.