EMILY — POV
The sky was pale with a ghost of blue,
The kind that speaks when morning's new.
I walked to school with thoughts unclear,
But Vicky's voice still echoed near.
I passed by Jane near the fence,
Her arms crossed, posture tense.
She caught my gaze and didn't look down,
No judgment there—but still, a frown.
"Emily," she said, walking slow,
"Are you sure about where you want to go?"
Her words weren't sharp, but full of care,
Like someone standing always there.
"I'm not sure of everything," I said,
"But some things echo in my head.
With Vicky, it's like I breathe again—
Not as someone's shadow, but as a friend."
Jane sighed, brushed her bangs aside.
"Just don't let your heart take you for a ride.
He's been cruel. You know he has."
"I know," I said. "But that was past."
"And Mike?" she asked, voice low, unsure.
"He still waits, Em. His love feels pure."
I hesitated, pain pressing in,
"I loved the idea of what we could've been.
But love, real love, can't be one-sided.
And I think our stories have divided."
Jane didn't argue—just stood still.
And sometimes silence speaks more than will.
She touched my arm and gave a nod,
"Just don't forget who you are beneath the facade."
---
MIKE — POV
The locker slammed, and I blinked hard,
Caught again off-guard by my own guard.
Emily walked past without a word,
And that silence—damn—it really hurt.
It wasn't anger. She wasn't cruel.
Just distant now. Changed by school.
Changed by him. Changed by things
That love can't hold with wedding rings.
I texted her. Lunch? Just talk.
She replied: Okay. Outside. Walk.
We met by the trees near the edge of the yard,
Where grass grew wild and the ground felt hard.
"Thanks for coming," I said real slow,
Watching her eyes for what they'd show.
She tucked her hair, didn't quite smile,
"Of course, Mike. It's been a while."
"I miss us," I said, throat like sand.
She didn't reach—but didn't let go of my hand.
"I miss it too. But I think we've changed.
And trying again would feel…arranged."
I knew she was right, and yet it burned.
Like pages folded, never turned.
"Do you love him?" I asked, voice thin.
She paused. A war was fought within.
"I don't know yet. But it feels real.
And that's something I can't unfeel."
I nodded once and took a breath.
The kind that hurts but quiets death.
"I'll be okay. I will be.
Even if I miss what we used to be."
---
VICKY — POV
I leaned on the art room windowsill,
Sunlight warm, the silence still.
I half expected her not to show,
But when she walked in, the room did glow.
"Painting today?" she asked with ease.
"As long as you don't judge the trees,"
I smirked, and she laughed out loud—
A sound like wind escaping cloud.
She picked up a brush and dabbed some blue,
And slowly the canvas came into view.
"I used to draw to disappear," she said.
"Now I paint to feel what's in my head."
She painted skies with fire and dusk,
Soft hands, no rush, no husk.
I watched her closely, heart undone—
Like staring at the sun too long.
"Why me?" I asked before I could hide.
She looked up calm, her head to the side.
"Because you try, even when it's hard.
Because you don't pretend. You guard."
I swallowed thick, shame on my tongue.
"What if I mess this up? Come undone?"
"Then we figure it out," she said with grace,
"And I remind you, not every fall leaves a trace."
We stood there, still, the canvas near,
And for the first time, I felt clear.
---
JANE — POV
I saw them laughing by the lockers' end,
A strange new rhythm they now defend.
Vicky—so closed—and her so warm.
Two clashing waves that formed a storm.
I didn't trust him—not fully yet.
But Emily's eyes held no regret.
She walked with lightness, unafraid.
Like someone choosing what she made.
Mike stood alone by the library door,
And my chest ached in my very core.
This wasn't how I thought love looked—
Not with poems or the lines we booked.
But maybe that's the point of youth—
To rewrite stories in search of truth.
---
EMILY — POV
That night, I climbed into bed with thought,
Of things I'd gained and things love brought.
Mike, with kindness steady and clear,
But Vicky… Vicky was real and near.
We weren't perfect. We'd never be.
But there was space to simply be me.
I held my sketchbook to the moonlight's spill,
And drew us quiet, atop a hill.
Not kissing. Not touching. Just side by side—
Two kids with nothing left to hide.
And maybe that was love too—
Something honest. Something true.
EMILY — POV
The next morning came with silent skies,
No rain, no sun—just muted highs.
I walked to school in a thoughtful daze,
My mind still locked in Vicky's gaze.
There was something about the way he listened,
Like every word I said had glistened.
Not polished or perfect—just real and raw,
He never looked away from what he saw.
In homeroom, Jane gave me a stare,
Not judgment—more like silent care.
"You okay?" she mouthed, eyes on me,
I nodded, small, but truthfully.
At lunch, I found a quiet spot,
Far from the crowd and cafeteria rot.
I opened my sketchbook, hands unsure,
Trying to capture what felt so pure.
Lines took shape: a hand in a storm,
Held tight, not for rescue, but to keep warm.
The wind could blow, the sea could break,
But that small gesture—real, not fake.
Vicky found me there, alone in the shade,
Like he'd followed the trail I'd unconsciously laid.
He didn't speak right away—just sat down slow,
Pulled a sandwich from his coat, ready to go.
"You always find me," I said with a smile.
"Maybe you're easier to spot from a mile."
"Or maybe," he said, eyes soft, unplanned,
"I'm always looking where you stand."
My breath hitched slightly, caught off-guard,
Emotions sharp, like a poet's shard.
"You scare me," I admitted, bold and light,
"Not because of you—but because you feel right."
He blinked, surprised, then looked at his knees,
"You scare me too—like soft things might seize
My armor, my balance, my worn-down shield.
But I'd rather be scared than forever sealed."
We didn't need to say much more,
There, under trees, away from war.
Just two souls learning not to run,
From the quiet weight of what had begun.
---
JANE — POV
That afternoon, I watched them leave,
From across the lot, behind my sleeve.
Emily looked... not happy, not sad—
But calm, like peace she'd never had.
Mike stood next to me, quiet as air,
His gaze tracking them, blank but aware.
"Guess it's not you," I whispered low,
He sighed. "I knew that weeks ago."
"You okay?" I asked, though I knew he lied,
He smiled like someone who'd already cried.
"Yeah. I just wish I hadn't waited so long
To say what I meant. Or show I belong."
"You still do," I said, holding firm.
"She cares for you—maybe not in that term.
But she hasn't shut the door, not really.
She's just figuring out what she needs, clearly."
He nodded, pulled his hoodie tight,
As if that could shield him from the night.
And we stood there, just two friends still,
Trying to accept what we couldn't will.
---
VICKY — POV
That night, she came to my door unplanned,
A sketchbook tucked beneath her hand.
"I didn't know where else to go," she said,
"But I couldn't sit with what's in my head."
I let her in without a word,
Because truth needs space to be heard.
She sat on my bed, shoes still on,
Like she didn't plan to stay too long.
"I don't want this to be a game," she began,
"Where someone loses, and no one can stand.
I want to move slow—but move with you.
Does that make sense? Is that okay too?"
I didn't answer right away—just breathed.
Then nodded slow, all tension sheathed.
"I don't want quick. I want real," I said.
"I want the messy stuff in your head."
She smiled—wide, relieved, unstrained.
And in that moment, everything changed.
We didn't kiss, not yet, not then.
But her head on my shoulder said more than when
Words try too hard to prove they're true.
That silence, soft—was something new.
---
EMILY — POV
I stayed for an hour, maybe more,
Listening to the creak in his bedroom floor.
He showed me drawings from last year,
A boy with fists, a boy with fear.
"This was me," he said, voice low,
"Before I knew I could let go."
I traced the sketch with gentle thumb,
And realized how far he'd come.
"I don't want to fix you," I said, sure.
He grinned. "Good. I'm already pure
In the ways that count—at least, I'm trying."
"And I'm learning to stop denying…"
What? That I could feel something deep?
That falling didn't mean losing sleep?
That maybe, just maybe, the person we choose
Is the one who's been fighting their own blues?
We stood by the window as night took hold,
The world outside felt dim and cold.
But inside, we were warm, side by side—
Not chasing, just learning to confide.
---
MIKE — POV
That night I stared at my phone screen glow,
Typed and erased, then typed slow:
"Hey Em. I miss our late-night talks.
Hope you're okay. I'll be around."
I didn't press send. Just let it stay,
Like some part of me had more to say.
But maybe, for now, I had to let go—
And trust she was where she needed to grow.
She wasn't mine to lose or keep.
She was her own, and diving deep.
And even if we never made it back,
I'd cheer her on from the sideline track.
Because love—real love—sometimes means
Letting go of all the might-have-beens.