Zoe never thought heartbreak would smell like sugar and regret.
The burnt cookies were still on her counter. She didn't have the heart to throw them away—not yet. Maybe it was masochism. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was just that throwing them away felt like admitting she'd lost before the credits even rolled.
And now?
Now everyone knew. Her confession wasn't just hers anymore—it was content. Reactions. Memes. Polls.
WHO SHOULD THE MAIN CHARACTER CHOOSE?✅ Team Zoe — "Childhood friends to lovers supremacy."✅ Team Dahlia — "Soft girls who write novels in secret."✅ Team Rina — "Let chaotic girls win for ONCE."✅ Team Scarlett — "Hot girl rights, respectfully."
The internet loved a spectacle, and Zoe?
Zoe hated spectacles. She wanted moments. Quiet ones. The kind of love you didn't post about, the kind of love that didn't need proof because it was woven into the tiny details: remembering her coffee order, making fun of old cartoons together, laughing so hard they couldn't breathe over nothing.
But now it was all noise.
It felt like Eliot didn't belong to her anymore—he belonged to them.To the screens. To the retweets. To the absolute circus this had become.
She didn't even blame Scarlett. Or Rina. Or Dahlia. Not really.
What hurt was that she thought she'd been ahead. She thought that by loving him first, she'd win.
But love wasn't a race, was it?
It was worse. It was messy. It was slow. And sometimes, being first just meant you were the one who waited the longest to get hurt.
The worst part?
The part that made her stomach twist with something close to shame?
She still hoped he would choose her anyway.
Even after the hashtags. Even after the viral nonsense. Even after everyone started arguing about whether she was "too safe" or "the boring option."
Zoe wanted him.
Not as a trophy.Not as a win.As him.
Her phone buzzed again, endless alerts piling on like sandbags in a flood.
And then—one text stood out, different from the rest.Eliot:Can we talk soon? Just us.
Her chest tightened.
Not public. Not viral.Just them.
Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't going to be a story written by strangers online.
Maybe it was still hers.
For now.