The room buzzed with conversation, music playing low in the background. A group of friends lounged on a couch, half-watching a movie, half-talking over it. Laughter. Drinks. The usual chaos of comfort.

  Christopher sat in the corner, half-smiling, sipping from a red cup. Jewel sat beside him, legs tucked under her, head occasionally resting against his shoulder like it was second nature.

  To everyone around them, they looked like a couple. The way she leaned into him. The way he instinctively adjusted his posture to make room for her. The familiarity in their silence.

  A guy from the group — maybe a little tipsy, maybe just bold — looked over and asked the question that had followed them for years.

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  “Yo… why don’t y’all just date already?”

  The room got quiet. Jewel laughed it off, like she always did.

  “We’re just friends,” she said, smiling, like it was a joke they were all in on.

  Everyone chuckled and went back to their conversations. Everyone except Christopher.

  He didn’t say a word.

  His smile faltered for just a second — a flicker, barely noticeable — but real. He looked straight ahead, as if the question hadn’t pierced something he kept buried.

  Just friends.

  He’d heard it so many times it echoed in his bones. Yet somehow, it still stung. Not because he expected a different answer, but because a part of him — no matter how small — still hoped for one.

  He looked at Jewel.

  She was laughing at something someone said, comfortable, unaware of the war inside him.

  And in that moment, Christopher knew: this wasn’t the beginning of a love story.

  It was the start of a slow unraveling.