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EMILY — POV
The next day at school, the weight in my chest didn't lift, but somehow it felt a little lighter—like the air after a storm, fresh but uncertain. I moved through the halls with a quiet tension humming beneath my skin. Everyone's voices blurred into one, but the most important sounds were the ones I couldn't hear yet: the conversations I still needed to have.
At my locker, Jane appeared beside me like she always did when I needed her most. "Morning," she said softly.
I gave her a small smile. "Morning."
She glanced down the hallway. "I saw Mike looking for you earlier."
I nodded, fingers trembling on the cold metal. "He wants to talk again. I don't know if I'm ready."
Jane shrugged, thoughtful. "You don't have to have all the answers today. Just show up."
I swallowed, trying to believe her. "I wish it was that simple."
She gave me a look so full of understanding it made my chest ache. "Sometimes it never is. But you're braver than you think."
We lingered there a moment before the bell rang, and the flood of students swept us apart.
---
Later that afternoon, I found myself wandering toward the art room, hoping for a quiet corner where the noise of the day couldn't reach me. I wasn't surprised when Vicky was already there, seated by the window with his sketchbook open, pencil poised but still.
"Hey," I said softly.
He looked up, his eyes warm but cautious. "Hey."
We sat in silence for a beat, then I asked, "Can I see what you're working on?"
He flipped the page slowly. It was a sketch of a tangled ball of thread, unraveling but still holding together.
"Is that... us?" I whispered.
"Yeah," he said. "Messy, complicated, but connected."
I traced the lines with my finger, the image echoing exactly how I felt. "I don't know how to make sense of it all."
"Neither do I," Vicky admitted. "But maybe we don't have to have all the answers yet."
I looked up at him, catching the quiet hope in his eyes. "How do you stay so calm?"
He shrugged with a small smile. "I'm not. I just try to keep breathing."
---
Later, Mike found me near the library steps. His face was serious, but when he saw me, it softened.
"Emily," he said, "can we sit?"
I nodded, and we sat side by side on the cold concrete.
"I've been thinking about everything you said yesterday," he began. "About how this isn't about winning or losing."
"I mean it," I said, my voice trembling a little. "I don't want this to be a fight."
Mike reached out and took my hand in his. "I don't want to lose you either."
"I know," I said. "And I don't want to lose you."
He squeezed my hand gently, his thumb brushing circles over my skin.
"But I also can't ignore how I feel with Vicky," I added, eyes fixed on the ground.
Mike's jaw clenched, but he didn't pull away. "That hurts to hear."
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm sorry this is so hard."
He exhaled slowly. "It's hard because I care. Because you matter."
I looked up, meeting his gaze. "You matter too."
There was a pause, heavy with everything unsaid. Then Mike said, "I guess this means we have to be honest with each other—even if it's scary."
I nodded, heart pounding. "Yes."
---
Jane joined us then, her presence steady and calming. "I think it's time for all of us to talk—really talk."
Mike looked at her, then at Vicky, and finally back at me. "I don't know how to do this without breaking."
Jane shook her head gently. "You might break a little. But sometimes breaking means you can rebuild stronger."
Vicky nodded in agreement. "I want what's best for Emily. Even if that means stepping back."
Mike's eyes searched mine, then Vicky's, and I saw something shift—a fragile truce forming.
"I don't want to lose you," Mike said again, softer this time.
"We're not losing each other," I said, my voice steadier. "We're just... finding new ways to be."
---
That night, I sat in my room with my sketchbook open. I began to draw two hands—one reaching out, the other hesitating just before taking it.
I thought about Mike's kindness, his willingness to fight even when it hurt. I thought about Vicky's patience, his quiet strength that felt like a safe harbor.
And I thought about Jane's words—that love isn't a straight line, but a messy, winding road.
I knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but for the first time in a long time, I felt ready to walk it.
---
The next morning, I met Jane at school before classes started. "How do you know when you're doing the right thing?" I asked her, my voice barely above a whisper.
Jane smiled gently. "Sometimes you don't know. But you do what feels honest. What feels like you."
I nodded slowly, the knot inside me loosening just a little.
Later, Mike found me again in the hallway. "Can I see you after school?" he asked, hope flickering in his eyes.
I hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."
Between classes, Vicky slipped me a folded note. I unfolded it to see a drawing of a bridge, sturdy but delicate, with the words: "We'll find a way."
I looked up to find him watching me with a patient, understanding smile.
---
That afternoon, the three of us met again—Mike, Vicky, and me, with Jane close by.
We sat in the quiet corner of the library, the soft hum of the school around us but far away from our bubble of fragile honesty.
Mike started, "I don't want to fight over you, Emily. I want to support you—whatever that looks like."
Vicky nodded. "Same here. No pressure, no expectations. Just… being there."
I took a deep breath, feeling the tears threaten but holding them back.
"I don't have all the answers," I said. "But I want to try. I want to be honest with both of you—and with myself."
Jane smiled softly. "That's all any of us can do."
We talked for hours, weaving through fears, hopes, and dreams. We didn't solve everything, but we built a space where we could be vulnerable.
And maybe that was the first step toward something real.
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