I began noticing Mohammed's absence almost as much as I noticed his presence.
If he didn't call, I wondered why.
If he didn't text, I checked my phone more often than I wanted to admit.
If I saw something funny, I wanted to tell him.
That was when I knew the friendship had changed.
Maybe not for him.
Maybe not officially.
But for me.
I had become emotionally comfortable with him.
And comfort can be dangerous when you are already unhappy.
One Friday afternoon, Mohammed called me after school.
"Are you done?"
"Yes."
"Can I see you?"
I hesitated.
"Where?"
"Anywhere you're comfortable."
I thought about it.
"Okay."
We met somewhere quiet and public.
He looked at me for a moment.
"You seem tired."
"I am."
"Is it James?"
I sighed.
"Everything isn't about James."
He smiled.
"But somehow, whenever you're sad, his name eventually comes up."
I looked away.
Maybe he was right.
I told him about how things had changed.
How James had become distant.
How Alberta had become a constant presence.
How I had stopped asking questions because I was tired of feeling like I was begging for reassurance.
Mohammed listened.
Then he said something I wasn't expecting.
"Maybe you shouldn't keep proving your loyalty to someone who isn't giving you the same peace."
I looked at him.
"Are you telling me to leave him?"
"No."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I'm saying you shouldn't lose yourself trying to prove that you love someone."
His words sounded exactly like Bathsheba's.
I remembered her warning.
Don't forget yourself.
For some reason, hearing it again made my chest tighten.
I looked at Mohammed.
"You know I love him."
"I know."
"And I'm not trying to replace him."
"I know."
"Then why are you saying these things?"
"Because you're hurting."
I became quiet.
That was the truth.
I was hurting.
And somehow, Mohammed had become one of the few people who could see it without me explaining everything.
When I got home later, James was there.
He looked at me.
"Where were you?"
"Out."
"With who?"
I paused.
"Mohammed."
His expression immediately changed.
"You went to meet him?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"To talk."
"About what?"
"Life."
"Bjei."
"What?"
"You need to be careful with him."
I stared at him.
"I am."
"You don't know what he wants."
"Do you know what Alberta wants?"
He became silent.
I regretted saying it immediately.
But I was tired of pretending.
"James, I'm not doing anything wrong."
"I didn't say you were."
"Then trust me."
"I do."
"Then stop questioning me."
He looked away.
The irony was almost unbearable.
For months, I had been asking for the same thing from him.
Trust.
Transparency.
Boundaries.
Now he was asking me for the things he had struggled to give.
That night, I received a message from Mohammed.
Did you get home safely?
I looked at the message.
Then I looked at James.
I didn't respond immediately.
I didn't want to create another problem.
But James noticed my phone.
"Is it him?"
"Yes."
He sighed.
I put the phone down.
"I won't answer."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want us to fight."
He looked at me.
Then he said quietly,
"You don't have to stop talking to people because of me."
I stared at him.
"What happened to you?"
He smiled weakly.
"Nothing."
"No. Something happened."
He didn't answer.
Maybe he was finally realizing that he could lose me.
Maybe seeing Mohammed around me had made him understand that my heart wasn't an object he could leave unattended forever.
But I didn't want his fear to be the only thing bringing him back to me.
I wanted him to choose me because he valued me.
Not because another man was nearby.
The next morning, I spoke to Mohammed.
I told him about my conversation with James.
He listened.
Then he said,
"I don't want to be the reason you lose your relationship."
I was surprised.
"You're not."
"I don't want to come between you."
"You're my friend."
He smiled.
"Then let's keep it that way."
I nodded.
But inside, I knew things weren't that simple anymore.
The friendship had already become emotional.
And emotions don't always obey labels.
Days passed.
James became more attentive.
He started asking about my day again.
He called when he was away.
He asked whether I had eaten.
For a moment, I thought perhaps things were changing.
Maybe Mohammed's presence had awakened something in him.
Maybe our relationship could be repaired.
I wanted to believe that.
I desperately wanted to.
But there was still Alberta.
Her name still appeared.
Her calls still came.
Her messages still existed.
And James still hadn't created the boundary I had asked for.
So even when he came closer to me, part of me remained guarded.
Mohammed, meanwhile, continued to be my friend.
He didn't pressure me.
He didn't demand that I choose him.
He simply remained there.
And that was what made everything complicated.
One evening, I was sitting alone when I received two messages almost at the same time.
The first was from James.
I love you.
The second was from Mohammed.
I hope you're okay.
I stared at both messages.
One came from the man I had chosen.
The other came from the man who had quietly become my comfort.
I didn't know which message frightened me more.
James's reminded me of everything I was trying to save.
Mohammed's reminded me of everything I was slowly beginning to feel.
I put the phone down.
I didn't answer either of them.
I sat there thinking about Bathsheba's warning.
Don't give someone so much access to you that they begin taking advantage of you.
Maybe she had been talking about James.
Maybe she had been warning me about something else.
Because now I was standing at the beginning of another emotional crossroads.
I had spent so much of my life being afraid of betrayal that I had become determined never to betray anyone myself.
But life was teaching me that sometimes, you can find yourself standing dangerously close to the very line you once promised never to cross.
I loved James.
That was still true.
But I couldn't deny that Mohammed had become important to me.
And the scariest part wasn't that Mohammed was pursuing me.
It was that he didn't have to.
My heart had already started noticing him.
And I didn't know where that would lead.