Los Angeles | 2009
Bradley's POV
"I've always liked basketball," Jenna was saying, her voice soft and confident. "But watching you play... it's different. It's like you see the whole court in a way no one else does. I guess, at first, I just wanted to be friends with that person. And now..." She took a small step closer to me. "...now I think I want more. Bradley, I really like you."
My brain did something it had never done before: it short-circuited.
The words barely registered, because the only face I could see was Alex's, her wry smile and intelligent eyes superimposed over Jenna's hopeful expression. A hot, dark blush crept up my neck. I needed to say something—the right thing, the diplomatic thing. Jenna was known for her drama, and a scene was the last thing I wanted at my own party.
"Jenna, I—uh..." My words failed me. My usually reliable mind was scrambling for a strategy, a gentle deflection, anything.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, a figure emerged from the shadows of the house. I turned, and my entire world tilted.
It was Alex.
And she was wearing a dress. I'd only ever seen her in jeans and band t-shirts, but tonight, she wore a dress the color of a deep violet twilight. It was made of a light, airy chiffon that seemed to float around her as she walked, the A-line cut swaying with a gentle grace. A halter top tied behind her neck, leaving her shoulders bare, and a line of small, delicate buttons traced a path down the front. She looked… breathtaking. The word wasn't an exaggeration; it was a simple, observable fact. My brain, which had just rebooted, promptly shut down again.
Then I saw the look on her face, and the awe was instantly replaced by a sharp, cold spike of guilt. Her expression was a tight, brittle mask of pain. I saw Cathy lingering in the shadows behind her, and a wave of confusion washed over me. What was happening?
Her voice, when she spoke, was a stranger's. "Happy Birthday, Bradley."
She thrust the wrapped gift into my hands. I took it automatically, my fingers brushing hers, the brief contact sending a jolt through my system. Before I could react, before I could say a single word, she reached into her bag. She pulled out what looked to be a letter and shoved it flat against my chest. My hand came up instinctively to grab it, my eyes locked on hers, full of questions I couldn't begin to ask.
And then she turned and walked away.
I saw the glint of tears in her eyes just before she turned, and my body took an involuntary step to follow. A mistake. My focus snapped back to the two girls standing in front of me. Jenna's face was a crumbling mask of devastation; Cathy's was a pointed glare. Right. Tactical priority: solve the immediate problem, then pursue the primary objective. Find Alex.
"Jenna, I'm sorry," I started, my voice quiet. The devastation on her face was real, and I hated being the cause of it.
"I like you, Jenna, I really do," I said, choosing my words with care. "You have a charm, an ability to connect with people that's rare. You're brave and you're relentless—I saw that in all the times you tried to be my friend. I just... I don't think you and I would work as a couple. And I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt—"
"It's because you like Alex, isn't it?" she interrupted, her voice sharp with accusation.
There was no point in denying it. The hesitation was over. The truth was the only clean move left on the board. "Yes," I said, simply.
"Why?" The question was incredulous, laced with genuine disbelief. "She's a nerd. A social outcast. She's not even that pretty. You and I, we'd be perfect together. I'm the popular girl, the one everyone wants, and you're Bradley Naird, the player who can silence a whole court. Alex is just... she's just a dorky girl who's good at studying."
Her words, meant to be insults, landed on me like a list of accolades. Every flaw she named was something I admired. A small, genuine smile curved my lips as a clear, simple image of Alex—explaining trade routes with that fire in her eyes—filled my head.
"Yes," I said again, my voice soft but firm. "She is." I met Jenna's furious gaze without wavering.
" The heart wants what the heart wants."
And with that, I turned and walked away, leaving the two of them standing in the slice of light from the court. The party, the noise, my own birthday—none of it mattered anymore. I had a new mission. I had to find Alex.
But she was gone.
I scanned the crowded patio, my eyes sweeping past faces I knew but didn't register. Leo and David. A few other kids from school. None of them mattered. She wasn't by the pool. Not by the buffet. I pushed back into the house, the music a dull thud against my ears, the laughter and chatter just meaningless noise. The living room was empty except for a few parents deep in conversation. The kitchen, clear. Every empty space felt like an accusation.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I pulled out my phone, my thumb finding her contact on pure instinct. I pressed 'call'. It rang once, twice—a hopeful, electronic pulse—and then it cut out, the automated chill of a voicemail greeting filling the sudden silence. Click.
My strategic mind processed the data with cold efficiency. She wasn't at the party. The disconnected call was a clear, deliberate message: I don't want to talk to you right now. She may be across the street at her grandfather's house. She was safe. It was a logical conclusion, and I accepted it.
But my heart, or whatever that aching, hollow thing in my chest was, refused to listen. The need to see her, to fix this, was a desperate, irrational pull that defied all logic and protocol.
So I did the only thing I could. I imposed order on the chaos. I turned my back on the party and walked calmly back through my own house, a ghost at the feast, ignoring the calls of my name as I went up the stairs.
I closed my bedroom door, the latch clicking shut with a sound of quiet finality. The noise of my own birthday party became a distant murmur. I was left alone in the silence with the two things she had given me: a brightly wrapped gift, and a simple, sealed envelope.
My hands were perfectly steady as I picked up the letter. Her name wasn't on it. She didn't need to write it. I slid my thumb under the flap and opened it.
Dear Bradley,
There is little if any that needs be written here for me to express how lucky I feel having found a person like you. My life has not been one that I would count as ideal, Haley and I fight while Luke and I have a very deep but limited bond as siblings. My parents have always done right by us as a family but sometimes I feel there is something more that I deserve, something more that I crave.
Then you came into my life.
At first, I assumed you'd be like everyone else—uninteresting, predictable. I was wrong. From the very first conversation we had I found myself made curiouser and curiouser (yes it's an Alice in Wonderland reference).Being around you made me look at myself differently. Your interests, your confidence, your intellect… they challenged me, and I found myself desiring things I had locked away. Your voice became the one that quieted the noise in my head. Your easy, wholehearted acceptance of me was the final turn of the key on a lock I had placed on my own heart.
I began to have feelings I could not define or fit into my polished narrative, feelings that brought me to tears when I tried to fight them. I was hesitant when I called you my best friend that night. The truth is, you're so much more.
You began as a friend but in time you've become a habit. When I am awake, I think about you, at night you sweep into my dreams not as prince charming but as a fragrance that delights me, as the wish granted in my dreamscape, one I was not strong enough to voice into the world. You are the comfort I find in my own silences, the voice that I find in my loneliness, the anchor in my chaos.
Six months spent together can never be enough to know a person but it's a start.
I like you Bradley Mark Naird maybe more than I wish to accept.
You're my never ending thought my favourite feeling.
Love,
Alex
The final words on the page blurred as a hot, unfamiliar sting filled my eyes. Tears welled and fell, blotting the ink on the page where she had signed her name. Through all the years, in two different lives, nothing had ever felt like this. No words had ever struck me with such simple, unshielded truth.
For years, the fractured memory of a past heartbreak had been a ghost in the back of my mind—a faded, cautionary tale that dictated my emotional distance. But as I stared at the letter, her letter, another face pushed that ghost aside. Alex's. Her wry smile, her intelligent eyes, her look of quiet concentration as she explained the nuances of history—it was all so vibrant, so real.
And with that clarity came a brutal, undeniable realization.
I had to find her and make things right, tell her what she means to me. I pocketed the letter, the weight of Alex's feelings being tenderly carried by me.
I found Mom in the living room, standing by the large window that looked out onto the backyard. She was watching my party in the backyard. She turned as I entered, her expression calm and waiting, as if she knew I'd be down.
"Mom, I have to go over to Jay's house," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
"Oh?" she asked, her gaze searching mine. "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah. It's just..." I began, the lie feeling clumsy on my tongue. "Alex... she thinks she might have left her gift for me over there by accident. I told her I'd help her look for it."
A flicker of confusion crossed her face. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, dropped for a fraction of a second to my empty hands, then returned to my face. The lie was transparent, and we both knew it. I saw her process the flawed logic, weighing it against the raw, undisguised urgency in my eyes. The strategist in her could have dismantled my story in seconds.
The mother in her chose not to.
A soft, understanding smile touched her lips. "Alright, honey," she said, her voice quiet. "Go on, then. Don't be too long."
I gave her a quick, grateful nod and walked out the front door into the cool night air, the weight in my pocket feeling a little lighter now.
…
Los Angeles | 2009
Alex's POV
Lost and devastated I stumbled my way into Grandpa's house; it was empty just like I wanted it. The front door clicked shut behind me, and my legs gave out. I slid down the wall to the polished hardwood floor, curling into a tight, miserable ball, my knees pressed to my chest. It hurt, it hurt so much. Every time I closed my eyes his face as he stood before Jenna came to mind, all the events began replaying like a broken record again and again. Why? Why couldn't I have this one thing for myself? Why did it always hurt like this?
The tears came in waves, a storm I had no control over, until my throat was raw and my body was empty and exhausted. The sobs subsided into ragged, shaky breaths. For a moment, there was just a hollow, aching quiet. Then I felt the strong desire to not make a mess of myself, to be strong. It's just a heartbreak Alex, it's not the end of the world, you'll be fine. But then, his face appeared in my mind again, and the dam broke all over, the quiet sniffles starting anew, helpless and unending.
Then I heard it—the soft, metallic sound of the latch on the front door turning. It clicked open.
A jolt of fear shot through me. I was a mess, a miserable heap on the floor, and I couldn't be seen like this. But in the midst of the turmoil, my limbs felt like lead; I couldn't bring myself to stand. When the door swung open, I looked up, and my breath caught in my throat.
It was Bradley.
Our eyes met across the entryway. His were damp and red-rimmed, and as his gaze landed on me, something in his own composure seemed to break. He crossed the distance in a few quick strides, bending down to sit on the floor in front of me. Gently, he took my hands in his. I stiffened at the gesture, a reflex, but the tenderness in his touch made it impossible to pull away.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with an emotion I couldn't place. "I am so sorry I hurt you. I knew something was happening between us, and I tried to shut it down. I thought I was protecting you from me, but that was just an excuse. I was a coward, Alex. I'm sorry."
I just stared at him, confused, the words a jumble in my grief-addled brain.
"I like you, Alexandra," he said, his voice gaining a quiet, fierce intensity. "I like you the way the ocean likes the shore. Constantly. Consistently. Eternally. I like everything about you—the way your mind works, the way you laugh, all the parts you try to hide. You are my Moon, the existence in my void. You are... you are what matters to my heart."
He leaned forward, slowly, and rested his forehead against mine. I was forced to look directly into his eyes, and the oceanic blue I remembered was now a storm of sincerity and regret. He smiled, a small, sad, hopeful smile.
And in that moment, the chaos stopped. The noise in my head, the looping images, the aching in my chest—it all just… went quiet. Everything that had been so unsettling became tranquil. There was only him. He liked me. He liked me just as much as I liked him. This wasn't a dream. This was real.
All the hurt, all the wallowing, suddenly transformed into a feeling of pure, unfettered joy that bloomed in my heart. A smile started to carve itself on my face, growing wider and wider. We just sat there, hands clasped together, foreheads touching.
"Will you go out with me?" he asked, his voice a hopeful whisper in the quiet room.
"Yes," I breathed, the single word feeling like the easiest, most blissful decision I had ever made.
For a moment, we just stayed there, wrapped in a perfect, blissful quiet. But my analytical mind, even now, couldn't leave a variable unsolved. I pulled back just enough to look at him, the question a hesitant whisper.
"What about Jenna?"
He didn't even have to think. "I was never going to say yes to her," he said, his voice firm and certain. "I was just trying to find a way to let her down easy without causing a scene. Honestly, when she was saying all that, the only face I could see was yours." He smiled, a soft, private smile that was just for me. "You're my never-ending thought, my favorite feeling."
He was quoting my letter. He was speaking my own vulnerable words back to me with absolute sincerity. A fresh wave of heat flooded my face, a blush so intense I was sure I was glowing in the dark.
"You read the letter," I stated, the words coming out as a breathless, incredulous squeak.
"Of course I did," he said, his eyes full of a genuine warmth that melted the last of my insecurities. "It was beautiful. Just like you."
He squeezed my hand and then made a move to stand, pulling me gently to my feet. "Come on," he said, a hint of his usual playful urgency returning. "We need to get back before my Mom sends a search party and has my hide."
I chuckled, the sound light and airy in a way it hadn't been for weeks. "Give me a moment to clean up my face, then we can head out."
"Alright," he said, already backing out of the door. "I'll wait for you on the porch."
He stepped out of the house, and I walked toward the downstairs washroom, my steps feeling impossibly light. There were endless, fluttering butterflies in my stomach as a new image, a new memory, began replaying in my head on a joyous, unending loop.
He confessed. He likes me. We're a couple.