words can't save us, now

It happened slowly; none of them noticed it, at first.

They were each other’s everything, for a bit more than two years. He was there for her, and she made tremendous efforts to be there for him too, though sometimes it was hard for her. He understood though. Until, someday, he didn’t.

They were still kids. They dreamed, and they made plans for the future. They would live together, they said, and they almost went to the same high school. We’ll walk there together, he told her, it’s not that far away from home. As for university, she wanted to study Psychology and he said he wanted to be a biologist. They both lived in Athens, though; they could still see each other, even if they didn’t want to.

Their other friends fought with them sometimes. A couple of them didn’t like her, either. It confused her at times; they were one group, after all. They said they spent too much time together, and while she tried to tell him that maybe they were right, he was adamant in defending her. He was always like this, and maybe that’s why she never disagreed with him.

Looking back at it, maybe she should have.

The years passed. They turned fourteen, fifteen. She was better now. She could listen to him, and tried to be there for him more. He hadn’t seemed to have noticed. He never did.

She didn’t have a birthday party. They argued, and she had cried so much she couldn’t breathe properly. Something about her wanting to go to the beach and him wanting to hang out nearby, but she didn’t remember why she cried. Her mother was angry. She doesn’t remember when they spoke again, after the fight. They did, though. Maybe that was a mistake she shouldn’t have made. Maybe she should’ve put it to rest then.

Schools closed a few weeks later. There weren’t many cases, and they weren’t under lockdown yet. They went out, occasionally the two if them, other times with a friend or two. Very rarely did they go out without one another; they joked about being so close together, they might be family at this point. But she knew that was never the case for her. Deep down, everyone did.

They went to the beach during the night, and she introduced him to friends of hers he hadn’t met yet. They were all pleased to meet him. Too pleased, she kept thinking bitterly, though she didn’t talk about it.

They kept going out a lot, but not just the two of them; not anymore. It was a slight, very subtle difference that perhaps he thought she hadn’t noticed. She had. She was terrified; what they had was about to end, she knew. She was frozen in place, too afraid to do anything.

Their friendship was too fragile to be touched in the wrong way; even just a slight misplacement of her fingers could burst the small bubble the two of them were in. She seemed to have noticed it earlier than he—or anyone, really—had. She was smarter than they made her out to be, and could see this thing heading to its imminent end from the way he even looked at her.

It was June when their friend’s birthday approached. Or was it July? She couldn’t remember. Funny, it was only last summer.

They had all gone to her rooftop, no more than six or seven people staying over. They’d all drank, all but her. Her other friend knew what was happening. She didn’t think he’d told him; he just knew. That was always the case with him. With all of them, if she was being honest.

“Maybe you should talk to him,” he had said. She’d shook her head. It made sense, and sometimes she hated him for it. Communication is key, and all that.

Still, she couldn't see how talking to him about it would make things any better. He kept talking about his ex all the time. She kept talking about some guy she thought was cute. He didn’t matter anymore, but she was too afraid to stop talking about him. It’ll make it real, her mind kept providing.

He was there with them. She can’t remember if there was music, but she thinks she remembers him dancing at some point. Which was stupid, because no one was dancing with him. He fell on top of her, too, once.

The sun went down, and the rest of them started drinking more. She didn’t like the taste of alcohol. Well, not back then. She was among the last of them to go home, probably at midnight. She didn’t remember.

The last fight was big. That wasn’t surprising.

He hadn’t talked to her in about three weeks, and she was at the verge of giving up. It seemed irrational to her, how someone who spent almost every single one of his days with her could forget her, just like that.

Her other friend had sent her a message, telling her he’d talked to him. She said she didn’t care. She told him everything. Her feelings for him, how she thought of him and how she didn’t feel that way anymore. She was lying, of course, but she couldn’t bear to tell the truth; not yet.

He sent him everything. Screenshots and screenshots of her letting everything out, and he didn’t even ask her. It made him angry.

So, he sent her his own message as well. He had typed everything out; about how he wanted her to get his name out of her contact list, to “get over him,” how he didn’t want to see her cry because he didn’t want to pity her, declining her calls.

After a lot of effort, he agreed to meet her the next day and sort everything out in person. They did meet, and that was it.

Now that she thinks about it, it ended the same way it had begun. Sitting cross-legged in front of each other. It makes her chuckle, occasionally. She thinks about him a lot. Talks about him, too. Only to the people that knew him, though.

He posted some things in his private story, like the teenager he was, some things she trusted him with. That he’d promised to keep to himself. He took them down. It was mid-July when it happened. That one she remembered clearly.

No one out of the group talked to her anymore. It wasn’t because they didn’t like her; apart from one or two of them, of course. They were too close with him to stay behind with her. To be fair, she didn’t even pay attention to them leaving. She let them go, perhaps even pushed them away on her own.

She went on vacation as if nothing had happened. When she returned, she went to a different high school. It was closer than the one he was going to, so it wasn’t that bad. A few of her classmates were going there, as well. They weren’t in the friend group she was in.

She started changing, as a person. Rapidly, too rapidly for her to notice.

It was only when she saw all of them one night, that it hit her like a ton of bricks. All of them, apart from him. They were all so polite to her, so attentive. Never the way they were when she knew them. They kept dismissing her, and suddenly they didn’t. She went home and cried until she couldn’t breathe. Months ago, it would’ve made her angry. It didn’t, now.

After that, I only see them on the street. We barely talk; it wouldn’t make sense, we’re not friends anymore. I still love them, though. Too much for my own good.

You know what that's called? my friend's boyfriend had told me, holding a cigarette between his thumb and index finger. That's called having a good heart.

I don’t see him anymore. I turned sixteen, and I only see my other friend. Or at least that’s what he used to be. He waves at me from the other side of the street, except from where he’s there, with him. I wave back.

I’m not mad anymore. It’s like I never met him, sometimes. It makes it hurt less. Maybe someday, I’ll grow to forget he was even there.