The journal was still tucked under his pillow, in the same spot it had always been, like he wanted it close because it mattered.
I told myself I just wanted to see what he was writing now. Wanted proof that he still thought about me, that I was still in his head, still a priority to at least one person on this godforsaken earth.
The thick black notebook was heavier than I remembered. The weight of truth. My hands didn’t shake, but they felt stiff, like something inside me was about to break. It wasn’t mine. I knew that. But so much of what lived inside it was.
Last time was supposed to be a fluke. I’d been pissed, curious, caught off guard. But now? Now I was just desperate.
I flipped to the back—nothing. Then, to the middle, the same loops of familiar handwriting. Pages addressed to me. Every one of them was a confession.
More pages. More entries. Some newer than before. All stillwritten to me. Some were light, just sketches, random jokes, lyrics. But then they turned darker.
I think I miss him more than I hate him.
I keep remembering the way he used to look at me, before he started looking through me.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m still in love with him, or just in love with the idea of who we used to be.
My pulse slowed as I reached the most recent entry. It wasn’t for me. And a weight dropped straight through my stomach.
It was to himself. Just a few quiet lines. Words of closure. Of letting go.
You did your best. You loved him without asking for anything back. That doesn’t make you pathetic. That makes you brave. It’s okay to stop waiting for the version of him that loved you back.
That was it. No more entries to me. None in weeks. Maybe longer.
I stared at the page, willing it to change. Wanting something—anything—that proved I still lived in that head of his, in that heart. But it was over. He’d stopped. Tru had moved on.
I slammed the book shut harder than I meant to, hoping I could crush the truth right out of it. My throat burned, and my chest felt tight and hollow all at once.
I’d never met anyone who wore their name like a damn prophecy, until Truen. Too good. Too honest. Too far out of reach. Like fate branded him from birth to be better than the rest of us.
I threw the journal onto his bed like it had offended me—likehehad—and sat down hard on my own mattress, burying my face in my hands. It was easier to pretend I hadn’t set all this in motion with a goddamn kiss and a coward’s silence.
He was supposed to keep loving me in secret. Keep chasing something that hurts. Something impossible.
Because I wasn’t ready to let go. I wasn’t ready for him to be okay, at least not without me.
And it killed me that I’d wanted so badly to find proof he was still stuck on me… only to find proof he wasn’t.
For the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel angry. I just felt abandoned. But hadn’t I abandoned him first? God, we were so fucked up, our entire history built on dares we were too young to understand and silences we were too scared to break.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, fists clenched tight like I could wring the poison out of myself. It wasn’t jealousy. Not really. It was grief. Self-hatred twisted into a thousand different shapes.
I hated that I needed him to keep loving me.
I hated that I’d made it impossible for him to say it out loud. That I’d taken everything he had to give and fed it to the silence between us.
I hated how badly I wanted to be loved by someone I couldn’t let myself have.
Because this fucked-up mess between us was the only version of Tru I’d ever let myself touch—the scraps. The echo of what could’ve been. And he deserved so much more.
I’d never kiss him again. Never hold him. Never get to be his.
In fact, I’d repeat every mistake I’ve ever made with him. To feel his lips on mine again, no matter the outcome, would be totally worthwhile. His kiss was worth every consequence I’ve ever suffered.
The words slithered in like they’d been waiting there all along, quiet and cruel.He’s courageous. I’m a goddamn coward.
And I guessed that’s what cowards did: sit in the dark, longing for a life they were too afraid to live.
